


Catherine & Henry

by RockSaltAndRoll



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:12:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockSaltAndRoll/pseuds/RockSaltAndRoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate is Tom's wardrobe assistant on The Hollow Crown. Everything was going just fine until the Battle of Agincourt, and then Kate's life takes a huge turn. Whether that turn is for better or worse remains to be seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Tom Hiddleston stepped into his trailer it was as though Henry V himself had walked in fresh from the battle of Agincort, dressed in metal plate and ring mail, dull-gold crown atop of sweat-soaked hair, mud and fake blood spattered all over his face and armour. He looked exhausted and cold but I swear he’d never looked more attractive than he did now. I damn wished that I was Catherine of Valois, about to be wooed by the King of England but alas. I was just first wardrobe assistant on the Hollow Crown set.

I moved forward to take the battered and dirt-stained shield from him and he looked up from the floor and blinked at me slowly, as though he were trying to figure out who I was and what I was doing in his trailer. It took a second for recognition to register and I was awarded with a small smile and a murmured ‘thank you’. I smiled back as I set the shield aside and waited patiently as Tom removed the leather gloves from his hands. His icy fingers briefly brushed mine as he handed them to me and I felt a pang of sympathy as I watched him slowly flex each digit in turn. He had been outside since the crack of dawn in the cold winter sunshine, filming a gruelling battle scene. Leather gloves were all well and good for protecting your hands from biting reins and glancing blows, but they did nothing to keep in the warmth. I set them aside also and waited in silence for Tom to unbuckle his belt and hand me the sword and scabbard.

He let out a long, shaky sigh as I moved around to his right side and he automatically lifted his arm so I could get to the leather straps holding the armour together. I bit my lip as I loosened the buckle. This was unusual for Tom, the quiet. Usually he was full of chat and niceties, but today he was just standing there sombrely, staring at a fixed point on the wall ahead of him. I cleared my throat as the buckles came undone.

“Rough day?” I asked softly, afraid to speak too loudly. He glanced at me as my fingers left the buckle at his side and he smiled again, more warmly this time as he dropped his arm to allow me access to the buckle at his shoulder. I had to stand on tiptoe to get to it properly.

“Just a bit,” Tom replied quietly in his rich, velvet voice. “I’m sorry I’m not very chatty”.

“Don’t apologise. It’s quite understandable,” I told him. He was always doing that – apologising. The shoulder buckle came undone and I bore the weight of the plate as I removed it from him. It was costume plate, made to be lighter than its authentic counterpart yet still weighty enough. I wouldn’t have liked to wear it for several hours at a time like Tom had to do. I set the breastplate on the floor and returned to help Tom remove the chain. I watched as he unwound the soiled scarf from around his neck and held my hands out to receive it. The fine lambswool was soft and warm from being worn next to Tom’s skin and I thread it through my partially closed fingers and across my palm slowly, enjoying the feel of it in my hand before turning to lay it on the table with the gloves and belt. 

It was as I spun back that I felt his acute gaze turned on me and when I raised my eyes to meet his, blue-grey orbs seemed to bore into my soul. It was then that I realised that Tom was still wearing the crown. I didn’t want to remove it as he looked so regal with it upon his brow, even as the dirt covered his face and his hair was matted to the side of his head by sticky crimson blood. I didn’t want to turn him from Henry V straight from the battlefield at Agincourt, back into Tom Hiddleston. Not just yet. Alas, I could not remove his chainmail without first removing the crown.

I took a deep breath and raised my arms high; hands reaching for the circlet. Tom leaned forward slightly to make the job easier, although his eyes never left my face and I felt my cheeks begin to colour under the intensity of the stare. I didn’t realise that I’d been holding my breath until I carefully set the crown on the table and it came forth from my lungs shakily.

I had to step very close to him in order to help him with his mail, and as my fingers closed around the cold metal rings and bunched them up at his sides, I’d never felt so aware of the fact that I was touching him, even if my knuckles were only brushing against the soft fleece of the undershirt he was wearing. Tom raised his arms again as I tugged the mail shirt up and he assisted by pulling it up over his shoulders, rewarding me with a glimpse of smooth belly as his shirt caught on the metal rings. I breathed in and caught is heady scent, a mixture of damp earth, oil from the chainmail and the salty tang of fresh sweat overlying the faint remnants of his cologne. It was delicious and I had to shake my head slightly to clear it so I could carry on with my work. Between us, we succeeded in drawing the mail shirt over his head and he was Tom again. 

We looked at each other for a long few seconds before I felt compelled to speak.

“I, er, I laid out some fresh clothes for you,” I managed, indicating to the trailer’s sofa upon which jeans, shirt, underwear and fresh socks were waiting, neatly folded. “Can I, er, bring you a coffee or anything?”

The mention of coffee more than the clothes seemed to snap Tom out of whatever reverie he was in and his features softened.

“That would be wonderful,” He replied. I managed a smile and a nod, and turned away to start gathering the bits of his costume together as Tom went into the trailer’s small bathroom for a shower.

I set a small, round laundry basket by the bathroom door for Tom’s boots and pants before gathering together the heavier costume items. I threw the mail shirt over my right shoulder and balanced the breastplate on my left hip. I opened the trailer door and picked up the shield before heading out. The cold winter air was like a slap in the face, but it instantly cooled my heated cheeks and cleared my head as I kicked the door closed behind me and hurried as quickly as I could to the wardrobe department. It wasn’t a long trip, and even though I stopped by the catering van for the coffee, it couldn’t have taken more than 15 minutes before I was back up the trailer steps and pulling the door open.  
I was inside, door closed and turning before I realised that I wasn’t alone in the room. I had either seriously underestimated the time it had taken me to do the round trip to the wardrobe department, or Tom had taken an exceptionally long shower because instead of finding him fully dressed as I had expected, he was standing in the middle of the limited trailer space, a soft fluffy white towel wrapped around his hips and drying his hair with a second. Water droplets clung to his skin and steam lightly curled up from his shoulders and arms. I almost dropped the coffee cup.

He glanced up, pinning me to the spot immediately with those piercing eyes of his and I felt my heart hammer furiously against my ribcage. The dirt and blood were gone, replaced by clean skin pink from scrubbing, and in place of matted hair, his natural curls were slicked back, darkened and heavy with water. His hands stilled when he saw me and he straightened, draping the second towel over his shoulder. Somehow I found my voice again.

“Coffee...” I breathed, holding out the cup to him. Tom walked towards me slowly, stopping inches from me and removing the towel from his shoulder, deliberately taking his time in setting it down on the table before taking the coffee from me. 

“You’re very kind,” He murmured, eyes on mine as he brought the cup to his lips and took a sip. I couldn’t tear away from it, he was so mesmerising. I watched his throat as he swallowed the warm liquid, and followed his hand as he lowered the cup again and moved to place it on the table. My eyes remained glued his hand as those long, elegant fingers released their grip and closed gently around my wrist. I had a second to look up before he crowded my space and I suddenly appreciated how tall he was as my head tilted back a way so I could look at him. His blue eyes were dark and I felt his hand move from my wrist, long fingers trailing delicately over my sleeve, up to my shoulder and then my neck. My eyes closed and an involuntary gasp escaped me as his touch on my bare skin set a fire in my veins, and then his lips were on mine. The kiss was immediately deep but slow and he tasted warm and sweet from the sugar in his coffee. By the time he drew back I was breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” Tom breathed, his face mere millimetres from mine. My eyes still closed I gave an almost imperceptible shake of my head. I wanted to tell him not to be sorry. My god, my body was practically screaming out for him to kiss me, to touch me, to never stop. But the words never came, and instead my lips searched his again, giving one, two, three ghosts of kisses. He must have understood, because with a sharp intake of breath he was on me again, fingers of one hand entwining in my hair while the other hand grasped my waist as he rocked his hips against mine, pushing me back against the table.

A sharp rap on the trailer door made me jump as though I had been electrified and the spell of the urgent heated kiss was broken as Tom’s hand dropped from my body as though he’d been burned. I turned away and immediately busied myself with gathering up the leather gloves, crown and scabbard that had been abandoned on the table as Thea Sharrock’s PA bounded in, cheerfully brandishing the next day’s schedule. To his absolute credit, Tom’s acting in that moment was sensational as he moved forward to take the paper, towel still wrapped tightly around his waist.

To be honest, I didn’t stick around for the performance. I all but threw the props into the laundry basket and practically ran from the trailer with it balanced on my hip, my head ducked and turned slightly away to hide my burning face which was no doubt an unhealthy shade of beetroot. The cold winter evening was instantly cooling but I didn’t stop walking until I was well out of sight of Tom’s trailer. I dropped the basket on the ground and, leaning against the nearest solid surface, sucked in several deep breaths to quash the shaking in my hands.

How was I supposed to look at Tom Hiddleston ever again? How would I be able to do my job now?


	2. Chapter 2

I must have only managed a fitful hour or so of sleep that night, my brain refusing to cease playing the kiss over and over. If I closed my eyes, all I could see was Tom’s face mere millimetres from mine, blue eyes lust-darkened and lips slightly parted, a tiny dusting of the faintest freckles across his nose. It was useless. Giving up on sleep completely at about four in the morning I resolved to avoid Tom at all costs the next day, or at the very least avoid being alone with him. The first of these was, of course, impossible.

As if the fates were determined to torture me, Tom was everywhere. You’d be surprised how hard it is to avoid somebody in a huge field filled with trailers, tents, cameras, rigging, catering vans, hundreds of acting extras and about the same number of set staff. I had barely arrived in wardrobe to prepare his costume for the day when he walked in. He sought me out immediately and I began to panic as he drew near. Tom opened his mouth to speak but thankfully, before he could utter a single word, my boss intercepted him. It seemed that he was needed on set as soon as possible so the two of us were needed to help kit him up. I avoided Tom’s eyes completely as I fastened buckles and tightened straps on armour before he was herded out into the cold. 

It was peculiar, this shift in our relationship. I had been Tom’s wardrobe assistant for only a couple of weeks but he’d always greeted me with a smile and a cheerful hello, whatever ungodly hour it might have been. Tom was always polite and good with idle chit-chat, often commenting about the weather or the day’s filming or the football match on telly that he’d recorded to watch later as he was trying to avoid people telling him the score. I had vaguely known who he was when I started working on the Hollow Crown set. I had, in fact, worked on the Miss Austen Regrets set but if Tom and I had crossed paths then, I’d never noticed or remembered. I was not prepared for a man like Tom. He turned out to be the sweetest, kindest, most modest and humble actor I had ever been around and he was always apologising to people, though God only knew for what. By the end of the first day I’d already developed the most astonishing crush on the man, but beyond the pleasantries there had never been anything more to our acquaintance. Until last night.  
Throughout the rest of the day I avoided him as best as possible, even forgoing lunch and much needed cups of tea for fear of bumping into him. As I stood forlornly amongst freezing extras, adjusting a belt here and a scarf there, I realised what I was so afraid of. It wasn’t the fact that Tom had kissed me, or where it would have probably gone had we not been interrupted. I didn’t want to hear him say that he’d made a mistake, to say ‘Sorry darling, I had a momentary lapse of standards so let’s just forget the whole thing ever happened’. Yes, my self-esteem was not the highest it possibly could have been and I wasn’t entirely sure that I could take an ego-bruising like that from somebody like Tom Hiddleston.

However as the day’s filming drew to a close, I knew I was going to have to face him and whatever he had to say, so I slumped off to his trailer to prepare his clothes. I could barely believe my luck when the trailer door was pulled open and Thea Sharrock appeared with Tom right behind her, engaged in a conversation about the day’s direction. I kept my head down and immediately went to work, waiting patiently for items to be removed before moving to unfasten buckles and remove all the armour. I worked quickly, scurrying around the pair like a mouse, their conversation nothing but background noise to the hammering of my own heart. It took the usual amount of time to transfer the costume plate and mail back to the wardrobe department and re-tag them and when I got back there, Thea was just leaving and she bid a cheerful goodbye to me as she passed me on the trailer steps. Tom and I were alone.

“Kate?” Tom called to me softly. I pretended that I hadn’t heard and continued to fold the olive green scarf in front of me. “Katy?” He said a little louder and I squeezed my eyes shut. “God damn it Kate. Please look at me,” Tom urged softly, his voice betraying his hurt at being ignored. I paused in my folding and slowly turned to face him. He wasn’t as muddy or bloodied as he had been the day before but his brow was furrowed and he looked tired.

“What?” I replied in a voice barely above a whisper. Tom swallowed and absently ran a hand through his hair, an action I had noticed over the past few weeks to be a nervous habit, albeit an endearing one.

“About yesterday,” he began, and I looked at the floor. “I wanted to apologise.” Of course. Apologising seemed to be all that he did. “I’m sorry if I put you in a compromising position,” Tom continued and I looked up again sharply. “I was less than gentlemanly and my behaviour towards you was inexcusable,” I felt my eyes widen with disbelief. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you or made you feel uncomfortable in any way, and I sincerely hope you’ll forgive me.”

This was absolutely not the way I had thought this conversation would go.

“No,” I replied, the words out of my mouth before my brain had actually caught on. Tom’s eyebrows shot up sharply and his mouth gaped for a split second before he managed to collect himself again.

“No?” He repeated dully.

I swallowed hard before explaining myself. “There are many things in this world one can apologise for Tom Hiddleston, but kissing a girl is not one of them!” His eyebrows seemed to rise even further and he opened his mouth to speak, but I continued quickly. “You are always apologising! You don’t need to apologise for everything!” I could feel myself getting irate. This probably wasn’t going to end well for me but I couldn’t seem to shut up now. “I mean, did I give you the impression that I didn’t want you to kiss me?”  
My mind flashed back to the night before and the way he stalked towards me, still damp from the shower, hair wet and slicked back, wearing nothing but a towel as his took the cup of hot coffee from me. I remembered how his eyes never left my face, how his fingers trailing up my arm had raised goosebumps. The deep kiss had left me speechless and breathing heavily and all I had wanted was more, to succumb to the fire inside that had threatened to consume me. 

I shook my head fiercely to clear it but I dared not look at him. A deep sigh escaped me.

“You are...gorgeous and talented and kind and sweet and i’m...a girl from Finchley who dresses people up for a living,” I said, plucking absently at the hem of my jumper. I heard a breathy sound that could have been a laugh coming from the other side of the trailer but still did not chance a look. “I don’t know what I did to gain such attention, but you do not get to apologise to me for that...”

“Katy” Tom’s voice interjected. It was soft and he sounded amused, which made me glance up at last. The trailer space was so limited that he crossed it in three strides and was standing before me again, his hand slipping gently under my chin, raising my face to look into my eyes. He smiled sofly. “Stop talking,” he whispered and leaned in to kiss me.

I don’t know why the thought entered my head just then, in the second that his lips brushed mine. My hand went to his chest and pressed him back as I said, almost inaudibly, “Why did you kiss me?”

Tom stopped and slowly drew back from me. My heart was hammering again.

“I...I don’t know”

The words were like a kick in the gut. Maybe I was right about his momentary lack of standards. It hurt.

“Well, that’s not a very good reason is it,” I replied sadly, pushing myself away and turning back to the table. I heard him sigh behind me.

“Katy...”

“Maybe we’d be best just forgetting about this” I cut him off loudly, gathering up the smaller items from the table in my arms. Tom’s silence went on for a few beats until he said quietly.

“If you wish,”

The emotion behind his voice was unreadable. I kept my eyes firmly on the floor as I left the trailer, letting the door slam loudly behind me. It was only when I entered the wardrobe tent that I started to wonder...what the fuck had I just done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, I don't get these beta'd. I know that there are a couple of word/spelling mistakes but...just forgive me for not being perfect, okay?


	3. Chapter 3

I couldn’t face going to work for the rest of the week. I called Annie Symons and told her my car had died on me, and since Finchley is twenty minutes from the studios in Ealing, I gained permission to work from there for the foreseeable future. I was glad that I didn’t have to drive to a field at four in the morning and stand for twelve hours in the freezing mud for the next few days, but mostly I was glad that I didn’t have to face Tom. A few days were maybe all I needed to get myself together again. 

I was so angry with myself. I’d been so close to what I was sure would have been a damn perfect kiss from an unbelievably gorgeous man and I’d gone and opened my big mouth and ruined it all. I was officially an idiot.

During the next week, I busied myself with getting the costumes ready for the French court scene. It was harder than one would imagine, checking over each and every item of clothing for marks or loose threads before carefully packing away each one ready for transport to location. And then there were all the props. Not only were the garments to be moved, but also every bit of jewellery, every belt, hair pin and pair of shoes had to go too. 

My car magically found itself fixed on the day filming started for the ‘final’ scene of Henry V. I use the term ‘final’ very loosely. It was the final scene of the play, but the whole thing was being filmed in reverse order. They had shot Harfleur and Agincourt over the last few weeks and now we were leaving the mud and cold behind us for a while to film the rest. And then we still had the whole of Henry IV to go. I had to forget about the kissing. It was the only way I was going to survive all of this.

I was in Wardrobe by six in the morning, thankful that all the costumes had already been unpacked, hung up and tagged. I made my way through the throng of people already there and quickly found Tom’s garments for the day and checked them over. The customary leather trousers were fine, and his boots had been cleaned of the Agincourt mud. The jacket was the only item of clothing that had never been worn before. It was made of burgundy velvet, sumptuous and soft, shot with lighter red stitching and highlighted with brass buttons. I ran my fingers over the luxurious fabric gently, admiring the texture and the way it changed shades depending on the direction that it was brushed. 

“I thought you’d quit,”

The familiar voice very close to my ear was so unexpected that it made me jump guiltily, as though I’d just been caught doing something a whole lot less innocent that caressing a jacket sleeve. I dropped the garment like a hot potato and took a deep breath as I straightened up and looked at Tom. He looked the same as when I’d seen him last, except that he wasn’t covered in mud. He smiled gently at me and I did my best to return it.

“No,” I replied, not entirely sure what else to say. He looked at me carefully, grey-blue eyes scrutinising my face.

“Good,” Tom said eventually. “I’m glad.” I smiled and nodded before turning away to unbutton the velvet jacket for him. He laid a hand gently on my arm and I glanced back at him, my breath cathing slightly at his touch. “We’re alright, aren’t we, Kate?” Tom asked, his eyes full of concern. 

“Of course,” I replied brightly. I didn’t feel as good about it as I sounded. This was defintly not going to be easy for me.

However, if I’d found this encounter slightly uncomfortable it was only about to get worse once the cameras started rolling. Lost in the activities of the first morning on a different set, I’d completely neglected to remember exactly which scene this was. Act Five, Part Two: Henry proposes marriage to Princess Katharine of France.

As soon as the first line left Tom’s lips, I wished two things. The first was that my name could be anything other than Kate, and the second was that I could be anywhere else in the world but right here at this moment.

_“O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with_  
your French heart, I will be glad to hear you  
confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do  
you like me, Kate?” 

I shifted uncomfortably where I stood. The dialogue was meant to be slightly comical, with Katharine understanding little English and Henry very little French. I didn’t find it so comical. I only heard my own name and poetry spoken by that rich, soft, velvet voice that made my heart beat faster and my body feel warm despite the cold.

_“By mine honour, in_  
true English, I love thee, Kate: by which honour I  
dare not swear thou lovest me; yet my blood begins to  
flatter me that thou dost...” 

My breath caught in my chest and I glanced away. Watching this scene, hearing him say all these things, was almost too much for me to bear. It was like torture. I had to repeat to myself that it wasn’t real. This was Henry, and he was wooing his Princess Katharine. It wasn’t Tom speaking to Kate. Plain, silly Kate. Kate who couldn’t stop reading too much into things. Kate who messed everything up. Digging my fingernails into my palms, I turned back to the scene ahead, at possibly the worst possible moment.

As Tom tilted Melanie’s face towards his and leaned in to kiss her, my stomach twisted cruelly and had to turn away swiftly, pushing my way through the crew to get to the exit. I was finding it very difficult to breathe and the scarf I was wearing around my neck was beginning to choke me. I tore it off and dropped it on the floor as I walked rapidly away from the filming. As I hit the corridor I broke into a run. I didn’t know where I was heading and I didn’t care. I just needed to put as much distance as I could between myself and that room right now. 

I almost ran directly into a stone pillar, stopping just in time not to injure myself and I wrapped my arms around the stone, pressing my face against it and letting the cold masonry cool my cheek as I tried to steady my breathing. Everything around me was quiet and the only thing I could hear was the rush of my own blood in my ears. I silently chastised myself for my reaction. They were only lines. Lines that were written hundreds of years ago, being recited by an actor to another actor. Tom had not said them to me, and it was only by coincidence that my name was Kate. But that kiss, the soft tender kiss with his hand gently under her face, tilting it upwards to his: that kiss should have been mine. It nearly had been mine. And I had ruined it all. I felt a tear slide down my face as I breathed out a shaky sob.

I didn’t hear any footsteps, so the first I knew that I was no longer alone was when a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist. I gasped in shock, my entire body tensing in response.

“Shh, Kate. It’s only me.” Tom murmured in my ear. The tension in me unravelled fast at the sound of his voice and I leaned back into him. “Are you alright?” He asked gently.

“No,” I whispered. “I’m not alright. I can’t stand there and listen to you saying all those beautiful words with my name added to them. I can’t listen to that and be alright.”

I leaned forward again, placing my palm flat on the cold stone, feeling it ground me a little. Tom removed one of his arms from my waist, placing his hand over mine. My breathing began to quicken once again, my stomach fluttering gently at the sensation of icy granite beneath my hand and the warmth of Tom’s skin above it. I felt his breath ghost against my ear as he leaned in.

_“You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate.”_

I gasped loudly as he whispered it in my ear. I knew that line. And he was delivering it to me. My legs turned to jelly and I had to slap my other hand against the pillar to help keep myself standing. Tom’s lips brushed against my earlobe gently, his fingers intertwining with my own. 

And then we heard it: somebody calling Tom’s name.

“Fuck,” he breathed. We stayed the way we were for a heartbeat longer, and then he disentangled himself from me and took a step backwards. I felt something drape over my shoulders and then heard Tom’s retreating footsteps. For a while I stayed hugging the pillar, my face pressed against it, willing my heart to slow down. 

Eventually, I pushed myself away from the stone and looked down at whatever Tom had put around my shoulders. It was the scarf I had torn from the throat in my rising panic and desperation to get away. I was torn for a moment. I couldn’t go back in there and watch him, but I couldn’t just leave in the middle of a working day. I text Annie my boss, to tell her that I was coming down with something and that I was best going home. She would probably kill me, but it was the only solution to my problem. 

Forgetting about Tom Hiddleston was definitely going to be harder than I’d ever imagined.


	4. Chapter 4

I had reached the conclusion that I was incredibly pathetic. Sitting on the bed in my Gloucester hotel with the best part of a bottle of vodka in my empty stomach, I called my sister Liz and told her everything. She confirmed that I was pathetic. 

“Just fuck him and get it over with!” was Liz’s sound advice.

“I wish it were that easy,” I slurred into the phone. The entire Tom situation was confusing and I just didn’t know where my head was at anymore.

“Sounds pretty easy to me, Katy!” replied my sister with an exasperated sigh. Liz was the only person to ever call me Katy. Or at least she had been until I’d met Tom and then he’d adopted the same pet-name. And there he was, invading my brain again. But, Liz was still speaking. “You think he’s gorgeous right?” I mumbled something to the affirmative. “And the first time in the trailer. That kiss was obviously going to turn into something much more if you hadn’t been interrupted, yes?” 

I wasn’t entirely sure at this point if my sister was trying to call me an easy lay or if it was just the evil vodka messing with me. I mumbled another ‘yes’ into the phone.

“And he’s made two other moves on you, despite you telling him to forget it, AND he quoted Shakespeare at you? Kate, are you a fucking idiot or something? The man quite obviously wants to sleep with you.”

I made a face, only vaguely aware that Liz couldn’t see it. What she was saying was making sense to my vodka-addled brain yet there was more to the whole situation. We’d shared a very heated kiss but then he’d apologised to me as though he were ashamed of over-stepping a boundary. Then I’d been an idiot and pushed him away the second time instead of just letting the inevitable happen. I’d probably unwittingly made a very simple situation worse. Liz was right: I was a fucking idiot.

After promising my sister that I’d be less of a pathetic idiot in future, I hung up the phone and disentangled myself from the bedcovers and grabbed the bottle of vodka from the bed-side table, determined to pour the rest of it down the tiny bathroom sink before collapsing back on the bed and passing out.

I turned up to Gloucester Cathedral the next day so ridiculously hung-over that I really shouldn’t have been driving. I downed a can of Red Bull before getting out of the car, which I regretted about twenty minutes later when I’d tripped over a costume rack and landed haphazardly on the floor due to my limbs shaking uncontrollably. As I attempted to pick myself up, a long-fingered hand appeared in front of my face, and I looked up to find Tom standing over me with a concerned look. I took his hand and was hauled to my feet with ease. He raised his eyebrows at me questioningly.

“Best not to ask,” I mumbled, brushing myself down.

“Okay” Tom replied simply, softly. I marvelled at how he could do that. Be so calm and cool and collected whereas I was a pathetic, uncoordinated, clumsy mess. With very little exchange of words I helped him dress for the day’s scene, fastening buttons and adjusting the belt on his hips before following him through the cathedral with his crown in my hands and my pockets stuffed with needles, thread, pins and anything else I might need to immediately solve a minor costume malfunction.

The filming from here on out was only Henry at court. Nothing in Tom’s lines could get under my skin today, and I was thankful. People made a few passing comments on how ill I looked and Annie suggested that I go back to bed, but I waved them away, determined to get on with my job. Somehow I managed it.

It was getting late by the time the day’s filming had wrapped and I’d finished up with the costume and headed back to my car. As I put the key in the ignition, all I could think about was the hot shower waiting for me at the hotel and the bed that was just waiting for me to fall into it. I turned the key and all I heard was the metallic grating of the engine ticking over which continued for way beyond the normal time. I tried again and was met by the same noise. My engine did not kick to life. 

“FUCK!” I yelled loudly and flopped my head forward dramatically onto the steering wheel, causing the horn to blare. That was it. I was just going to have to sleep in the car. A sharp knock next to my right ear made me jump and I looked up to find Tom leaning against the side of my car, arms folded across his chest, coat collar turned up against the cold and an amused smile on his face.

“Having trouble?” he asked, his voice muffled through the glass. I sighed and nodded, and Tom pulled the door handle, opening the car door for me and I slid out of the driver’s seat ungracefully, wrapping my coat around me tightly. He leaned down and popped the car bonnet, then went around to take a look, me trailing at his heels.

“Do you know much about cars?” I inquired and he gave me a sideways glance.

“Not a damn thing,” Tom said jovially and I laughed despite how miserable I’d been feeling all day. He moved past me and reached into my car, hitting the button that turned on my radio. And orange light flickered on and then Maximo Park’s ‘Graffiti’ came spilling from the speakers. He shrugged. “Well at least it’s not your battery.”

“I’d best call the AA,” I sighed and pulled my mobile from my pocket. As I talked to the coordinator on the other end, I watched Tom as he opened my car boot and started to shamelessly rummage around, unearthing a couple of old blankets that I’d had in there since that horrible winter a few years back where people had been stuck overnight in their cars on the M1 and some had actually frozen to death. Liz had shoved them in the boot for me just in case. Since I had to wait for anywhere up to an hour for the AA to come and rescue me, I was pretty glad that she had.

Tom draped the larger of the two around my shoulders as I snapped my phone shut and told him the result. He grinned at me and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small Thermos.

“Good job I brought coffee along then, if we have to wait for an hour,

I was gobsmacked. “Who the hell walks around with a flask of coffee in their pocket?” I exclaimed as Tom sat on the curb and unscrewed the little cup lid before pouring a bit of the hot liquid into it and offering it to me without a verbal response. I sighed, shrugged and collapsed on the ground next to him before gratefully accepting the sweet, milky coffee from him. The track on the car’s CD switched to Ellie Goulding’s ‘Salt Skin’.

“So...Katy,” Tom smiled, his eyebrows waggling expressively as he rubbed his long-fingered hands together to warm them. “How does a nice girl from Finchley end up as a wardrobe assistant for the BBC?”

I grinned and took another sip of the hot, sugary coffee. I was glad that he wasn’t bringing up our awkward encounters or my terribly uncoordinated arrival at work this morning. He was being sweet, friendly Tom, the guy I’d met on the first day of filming who seemed so interested in everyone he met. It felt refreshing.

“I don’t know, really” I replied offering Tom the coffee, which he gently took from me and cradled the cup in his hands. “I just...really like costumes I suppose”. Tom tilted his head to the side slightly.

“Oh, there has to be more to it than that,” he encouraged me gently. I thought about it for a few seconds, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

“I guess it started when I was little. I always loved dress-up and I could always make a Princess outfit for myself and my sister from whatever we could find in my mother’s wardrobe. She wasn’t often too pleased about it, but that still never stopped me”

Tom laughed lightly, filling the coffee cup back up and passing it to me. It’s warmth in my hands was comforting.

“I used to make outfits for teddies and dolls, and when I got older I got really into 1950’s fashion and got hold of all these gorgeous vintage patterns and made my own clothes. I did fashion at University,” I paused, looking down into the milky coffee, tinged orange by the glow of the street lamps.

“I don’t know, there’s just something about taking a roll of material and making something beautiful out of it. You have so much room to create anything you like. You can make it plain or ornate, you can play around with shapes and colours and textures. You can take a pattern straight out the history books and make a perfect replica, or you can alter it and play about and come up with something entirely new. The possibilities are endless!”

I looked at Tom, feeling thoroughly cheered up from talking about my favourite subject in the world. He seemed to be looking at me with a peculiar expression on his face and I couldn’t read it. He glanced away, his blue eyes fixing on the ground as he pressed his fingertips together and let out a small huff of laughter. I felt my brow furrow quizzically as he glanced back up at me.

“I lied to you, Katy.” He said softly. I was vaguely aware of the CD track changing again to the acoustic version of ‘Hands Down’ by Dashboard Confessional.  
“Beg pardon?” I replied, feeling surprised and a little thrown.

“When I said I didn’t know why I kissed you,” Tom clarified. “I lied.”

“Oh...” I said, almost inaudibly. My heart rate had picked up again and I could feel that stupid blush rising to my face. My fingers started to tremble slightly around the thermos cup. Tom glanced down at the ground again for a second before looking back up, his eyes impossibly blue in the peculiar light.

“I think you’re lovely,” he confessed gently and my breath hitched in my chest. I had to be dreaming. “You love what you do, and you seem so passionate about it. And that’s what makes you get up at four in the morning and stand around in the freezing cold dealing with idiots like me who can’t respect boundaries.” He ran a hand absently through his curly hair. “You’re sweet and kind and selfless...and you deserve so much better than me,”

He looked at me earnestly, his eyes betraying total honesty. I could barely breathe; hardly think under the weight of this revelation. 

_My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me, So won’t you kill me? So I die happy. My heart is yours to fill or burst, To break or bury, Or wear as jewellery, Whichever you prefer..._

The track played on softly in the background, a perfect soundtrack to the moment. I had no idea what to say. In all honesty, I’d never really given thought to the possibility of Tom actually truly liking me. Our conversations to prior to this had always been plain, almost nonsensical. Had he been studying me, following my actions over the weeks as I had done with him? I could scarcely believe that.

My eyes followed him and he twisted around on the curb so that he was facing me and he slowly reached over, gently taking the coffee cup from my hands and set it aside, eyes never leaving my face.

“Kate, I...” Tom began but stopped short as the sound of an engine rounded the corner and the bright yellow AA van appeared, orange lights flashing. Tom sighed gently. “I think your assistance is here,” he finished, although we both knew that it wasn’t what he had truly been about to say. I guess I’d never know, at least not tonight.

Whatever had been wrong with my car was obviously not a very serious problem, as the AA mechanic had it fixed and my engine running within ten minutes. I thanked him and as he left, I turned to Tom who was carefully folding the two blankets and returning them to the boot.

“Can I give you a lift anywhere?” I asked, opening the driver’s-side door. Tom smiled at me.

“It’s alright, I’ve got a hire car just over there,” He indicated to a Mondeo over the opposite side of the car park and I nodded dumbly, wondering why he hadn’t just offered me a lift home instead of making me sit in the cold for the AA. 

A sudden gust of cold wind caused a stray lock of hair to whip across my face, but before I could react to it, Tom reached it out and brushed it away, tucking it tenderly behind my ear. Oxygen was no longer reaching my brain, I was sure of it.

“Good night, Kate” Tom smiled softly and took a couple of steps backwards before turning on his heel and heading over to his car.

I drove back to the hotel on autopilot, and was surprised that I didn’t cause an accident on the way. Once safely back in my room, I swiftly changed into my pyjamas and climbed under the duvet. After a moment, I took out my mobile and sent a text message to Liz:

_Things just got more complicated.  
~Katy._


	5. Chapter 5

My car broke down again on the way back to Gloucester Cathedral in the morning and it took the best part of three hours for somebody to collect it, take it to a mechanic and get me to work. Since Annie had seen to Tom’s costume in my absence, I didn’t really see him all day and I wasn’t truly needed. I spent the majority of the day packing up costumes that were no longer required, ready to make space for the Henry IV costumes that would be arriving in the next couple of days from London.

It was a long day for the actors on set, as filming went on until it started to turn dark. When it was full dark, Tom had a costume change and they proceeded to film a bit of King Henry’s archery target practice while everyone else got changed into regular clothes and started to head home. It must have been ten at night when I’d finished up and I went searching for anything I had missed. Upon hearing the laughter further up the corridor in what served as the throne room, I put my head around the heavy wood doors to see Tom, Paterson Joseph, the director and a few others all taking turns at shooting arrows from a longbow into a target on the other side of the room. Tom of course was beating everyone. 

He glanced up and spotted me, his face lighting up even more. Before I could duck away, he had called out to me, causing everyone else in the room to turn and look at me.  
“Katy! Come over here, you must have a try at this!”

I shyly slid into the room and began to walk over, acutely aware of the many eyes on me.

“I’ve never done archery before,” I said quietly as I was handed a longbow that was almost as big as I was. Tom grinned at me.

“It’s easy. Let me show you,” he replied as he stepped up beside me, placing his hands on my hips to angle them into the correct position. I felt the heat rise to my face as I was stood directly before the target, sideways on. Tom’s hands released their hold on me and I was handed an arrow which I clumsily notched to the bowstring. “Raise the bow so your left arm is straight in front of you at a ninety degree angle from the ground,” Tom told me, his left hand cool as it closed around my wrist and raised my arm to the right height. “And this elbow should be flat as you draw back,” he said gently, levelling my left elbow with a slight touch as I pulled back the bow string. My breathing became shallow and everyone else in the room seemed to vanish as Tom’s voice invaded my mind, his body pressing against mine, guiding me into position.

“Fingers level with your mouth,” he said his voice low in my ear. “Breathe in as you pull back, breathe out...and...loose.”

I let go of the bowstring, my eyes following the flight of the arrow as it flew through the air and landed with a soft thud near the centre of the target. The room erupted in cheers but I was frozen to the spot, Tom’s hands still in their guiding position on my hand and my elbow. I felt faint until I remembered that I had no air in my lungs and drew in a sharp breath. The sound stirred Tom and he dropped his hands slowly.

“That was great. You’re a natural,” he said quietly. I managed a shy smile but when I looked up, I could swear that I caught a glance between Thea and Paterson. I decided to ignore it. 

Things were packed away a short while later with everybody’s help and I found myself walking out to the car park with Tom keeping step next to me. It was only when we got outside that I realised I had a problem

“Shit! My car is at the garage!” I exclaimed, covering my face with my hands. I had completely forgotten about it.

“I’ll give you a lift,” Tom said with a smile, heading over to his rental car. I bit my lip.

“I should really just call a taxi...” I said without conviction as Tom unlocked his car and pulled open the passenger side door.

“I insist.” He told me.

The car journey to my hotel was quiet, but the atmosphere was heavy with all the things we wanted to say to each other. When we finally pulled up at the hotel, Tom insisted on walking me to my room and I didn’t even want to argue. 

I unlocked the door and turned to him, standing with both hands in the pockets of his jeans, his blue eyes fixed on my face. This had to be it, I thought. I was wrong.  
“Goodnight Katy.” He said simply, and turned to head down the corridor. That gut-wrenching feeling hit me again, and I started to feel angry.

“So, we’re just going to dance around this for the next two months then?” I called after him, my arms folded defensively across my chest. He stopped and turned back, his expression unreadable. “I can’t do this anymore,” I continued. “I don’t know where I stand with you. I don’t know if I’m coming or going.” I glanced at the ground then quickly back up as I thought of something else. “And I need to know what you meant when you said I deserved better than you. Because from where I’m standing, you’re pretty fucking perfect.”

Tom smiled at that, but it quickly melted into a sigh as he walked back to me, removing his hands from his pockets to place them on my shoulders, squeezing gently.

“Kate,” he started quietly. “My last relationship ended because I put my career first. I don’t regret that. But I’m filming four productions this year, and I’ll barely be in the country. It’s not fair on you if we start something that we’ll only have to end in a few weeks.”

His hands cupped my face gently but I frowned at him.

“I don’t understand.” I said, taking his hands away from my face. “You already started something. You kissed me.” Tom at least had the decency to look guilty.

“I’m sorry. You are such a gorgeous girl, Kate. In every way, and I tried so hard to keep myself in check. But my resolve cracked. Which is why I really need to walk away now, before I hurt you.”

I shook my head fiercely.

“No, that’s not fair,” I told him as he took a small step back from me, his expression sad. “You can’t just make that decision and tell me it’s for my own good. I have the right to a say!” Tom ran a hand through his hair and gave an exasperated sigh.

“Katy, I’m doing this for me too!” he said, raising his voice a little, palms raised. “I’d be a first class arsehole if I just picked you up and dropped you when it was time to leave. I can’t do that to you. You’re worth more than that, and just I can’t give you what you deserve!”

“Then what about giving me what I want?” I yelled. Tom stilled.

“Don’t tempt me Kate,” he whispered. 

That was it. I didn’t care anymore. I reached out, grasped his sweater firmly and pulled him towards me, lifting up on my tiptoes to kiss him. He froze and for a split second I thought I’d made a huge mistake. But then his arms were around my waist, pulling me close as he kissed me back, full of want and desperation. 

I was propelled backwards through the open door of my hotel room, vaguely aware of it closing behind us before Tom pushed me back against the wall, his hands darting under my heavy cable-knit sweater to get to my bare skin. My fingers found his hair and buried themselves in the mass of thick brown curls, tugging them gently. Tom groaned softly against my lips before drawing back, which gave him space to lift my upper garments and pull them free of my body. 

The rest of our clothes followed suit, thrown unceremoniously away in our rush to feel skin upon skin. Completely naked, I was pushed up against the dresser, gasping in surprise as Tom slid his hands down under my thighs and lifted me onto it as if I weighed no more than a feather. I was on fire for him, his every touch on my bare skin sending flame to every nerve, heat coursing through me. I was wet and wanting as I wrapped my legs firmly around his waist, pulling him as close as I could. My cry was lost to a deep kiss as Tom entered me smoothly, his arm around my lower back to steady me and his other hand at the back of my thigh as I clutched his shoulders tightly.

It was slow and deep and passionate, the only sound in the room was our heavy breathing. Tom’s blue eyes were dark as he looked at me, our lips brushing, breathing each other’s air. My fingers curled in his hair again and I watched as his eyes fluttered closed and heard his breath hitch as he pushed deeper into me. His grip tightened on my waist as he pulled my leg higher and closer around him, deepening his angle. I threw my head back in a silent cry as a shockwave ran through me, and then another and another, heat and pressure building to a crescendo inside me. Seconds later, I buried my face in Tom’s shoulder as the wave of my climax crashed over me, leaving me shaking and gasping for breath. Tom held me close as he followed me, a small moan escaping from him.

I was barely aware of him carrying me to the bed and laying me down on it, but when he laid his head gently between my breasts, I began to run my fingers through his hair as we waited for our breathing to slow down. I had too many emotions running through me to pin down properly, but lying there with Tom, I knew we’d crossed a line that we could never come back from. And I knew that I was dangerously close to falling in love with him, which we both knew was a bad idea.

“I think we may have made a mistake,” I said weakly. I felt Tom’s hair brush my skin as he nodded slowly.

“Yes, I think we may have,” he whispered in agreement, his arms tightening around my waist. I bit my lip.

“We shouldn’t do this again.” My voice was barely audible as I stared at the ceiling, my fingers still slowly running through Tom’s hair.

“No, we shouldn’t,” he said. 

We lay there silently for a few more minutes, neither of us wanting to break away. Eventually, it was Tom who moved, placing a small kiss on my stomach before slipping wordlessly from the bed. I watched him as he found his clothes and redressed quickly before heading to the door. 

“I’m sorry,” I heard him whisper before he opened the door, walked through it, and closed it behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

_That’s the last time I ever take your fucking advice, Elizabeth._

I text my sister early the next morning after a whole night of not sleeping. I’d lain in the same part of the bed that Tom had placed me and not moved from it for several hours. I was angry, I realised. Angry at myself mostly, for doing something so stupid. Tom had warned me that it was a bad plan but I’d completely ignored him and practically jumped on him in the corridor of my hotel. I was also angry at Tom for just fucking leaving me there, all confused and vulnerable. The least he could have done was stay and talk to me about it. Typical man, taking off when things got complicated. And last of all, I was fucking furious with my sister.

Almost as soon as I’d hit send, Liz’s name flashed up on my phone. I picked up the call.

“What the fuck did I do now, Catherine?” My sister’s voice drawled in my left ear.

“Oh, I don’t know Elizabeth. Maybe it’s the stellar advice you give. Like ‘oh, just sleep with the man, Kate because that will make everything so much better!’ kind of advice.” I replied through gritted teeth. There was a short silence on the other end, and when Liz spoke again, all traces of irritation and sarcasm had gone from her voice.

“Tell me everything.” She said, and I did. The whole sorry damn mess. I managed to tell the whole story without crying too, so I must still have been angry. I’ve never been able to cry when I’m angry. I’m the kind of girl who smashes things and hits people when angry. I ended the story with Tom getting dressed and leaving and I heard Liz sigh.

“Fuck.” She said decisively. I made a noise of agreement. “Was it at least good?”

I snorted.

“Yeah. Unbelievably fucking good.”

“Shame,” Liz said. “If he’d been crap then you could have just put it down to experience and moved on.” She paused for a second or two. “Cock like a baby’s arm?”

If I’d been drinking a hot beverage, it probably would have sprayed out of my nose at that question. Thankfully, I had no drink in hand but it was still a shocker.

“LIZZY!” 

“I’ll take that as a yes!” Liz cackled on the other end of the phone and I smiled despite myself.

“Stop making me feel better, I’m supposed to be angry with you.” I told her.

“You can never stay angry at me Katy. I’m your big sister!” She told me. She made a valid point.

\--------

I was thankful that the next few days would be Tom-free. We had filmed the last scene of Henry V and the crew were getting set up for Henry IV which still had a lot of scenes to do in Gloucester Cathedral. While everybody else involved with the project went to the wrap party, I put in extra time with the costumes.

I was dreading the start of filming, because that meant working close to Tom again. But the day before the first scene was to be shot, Annie gave me some welcome news. She was putting me in a supervisory role over the extras’ costumes for the Coronation scene, and then she was putting me in charge of Jeremy Irons’ wardrobe for the foreseeable future. I almost hugged her.

The Coronation of King Henry was a massive logistical nightmare. There were about forty extras to clothe as well as a sizable number of credited actors and King Henry himself. I had worked for hours over the last few days making sure that the Coronation outfit was perfect and I was very proud of my work. It was going to look beautiful on him.

I was very busy with clipboards and checklists when Tom actually arrived on set, and it took me a few moments to actually recognise him. The light brown hair was gone, replaced with blond and the beard had disappeared completely. The transformation was astonishing. Clean-shaven, Tom looked about ten years younger although I wasn’t exactly sure if I preferred this new look or not. The beard had definitely held a certain something and the thing that struck me most was that he no longer looked like King Henry. He was most certainly young Prince Hal now.

I was correct about the Coronation costume – it did look stunning on him. 

He didn’t see me at all that day as I kept myself as far away as possible, absorbed in the supervisory process of seeing to the wardrobe of all the extras. I wondered if he had any idea yet that I’d been transferred to charge of somebody else’s wardrobe. 

\------

Working with Jeremy was a delight and an absolutely heavenly break considering how bad the last few weeks had been. Plus, I’d had a bit of a crush on Mr Irons since I was about twelve so it was a bit of a dream come true for me. He was an incredibly sweet man with a wicked sense of humour and he seemed to take a keen interest in the crew around him. I noticed, with a bit of a sinking feeling, that he was like an older version of Tom.

On the subject of Mr Hiddleston, he did not seem best pleased with the new arrangement. I’d been in charge of the set extras’ costumes for two scenes which had taken the better part of a week to film and I had managed to avoid him successfully for the entirety of it. But the day Jeremy arrived on set, Tom had arrived later than the elder actor to find me already scurrying around in my usual mouse-like fashion, layering Jeremy with his costume. He’d made some quip about my scampering and I’d been laughing when I glanced up and caught Tom’s eye.

He’d looked furious, his jaw clenched tightly as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. I’d had the overwhelming feeling that he’d just caught me cheating on him, a feeling that was bloody ridiculous. Tom had walked away from me, I reminded myself as I straightened up and set my own jaw defiantly. The exchange didn’t go unnoticed by Jeremy.

“That all looks like it has a story behind it.” he said lightly.

“We’re just not really getting on with each other at the moment.” I replied as I watched Annie approach Tom and lead him away. 

As the days passed, Tom and I still avoided speaking to each other and I was of the opinion that he believed that I’d asked to stop working with him. It irritated me that he thought I could be so petty and childish, but then again, I wasn’t exactly trying to talk to him or tell him otherwise. To be honest, Tom and Jeremy didn’t have that many scenes together, so I rarely had to be in the same room as him and whenever I did, I was monopolised by Jeremy and no opportunity to speak to Tom ever arose.

All the same, he still blew me away with how amazing an actor he was. When Tom cried, I wanted to cry too. In fact, I definitely did cry at one point, managing to wipe my tears away before anybody, especially Tom, discovered them. As upset with him as I was, I couldn’t help but be amazed at the fact that I was working for giants. The man was definitely heading for an award.

So the rest of Henry IV Part 2 passed without hitch and before we left Gloucester Cathedral for Ealing Studios, Tom needed to shoot one more scene there: Prince Hal’s summoning to court from Part 1.

Annie had informed me that she was sending me back to Ealing with Tom and she was going to stay with Jeremy at Gloucester just the day before and although I was proud of being given the responsibility of taking charge at the studios, I was afraid that irreparable damage had been done to Tom and I’s relationship.

I stood off camera as the scene was shot, Tom playing the sullen youth and Jeremy was the perfect irate father. To keep himself in the mood, he’d pace around between takes, swearing like a trooper and making me cover my mouth to hide the giggles that threatened to make themselves known.

What I wasn’t expecting, was for King Henry to actually physically slap the insolent smirk from Hal’s face. I actually gasped in shock as Tom’s head snapped back under the force of the blow, and I received a dirty look from the sound guy. Tom’s cheek was quickly reddening where Jeremy’s hand had come into contact with it and I was seriously concerned that he was actually hurt.

When Richard yelled cut and people began to leave their positions and mingle, I immediately made my way to Tom.

“Oh my God, he actually hit you!” I exclaimed, trying to get a better look at his face. Tom stilled and fixed me with a cool look.

“I know. I told him to.” He replied shortly. My eyes widened.

“But that looked really hard!” I protested.

“I’m fine, Kate.” Tom said but I couldn’t help reaching up to touch the angry red mark

“But...”

“I said, I’m fine!” Tom growled, catching my wrist and pushing it away from him savagely before turning on his heel and walking away.

I was struck dumb and left clutching my wrist, staring after him in disbelief. I’d done nothing at all to deserve that treatment, not from Tom, not from anybody. I stood there for a few seconds longer until I felt the hot prickle of tears at my eyes and had to flee the room before anyone noticed. 

The next few weeks were going to be Hell, I just knew it.


	7. Chapter 7

In the couple of days it took to cart everything from Gloucester and set it up again in London, my anger at Tom had reached epic proportions.

It was Jeremy Irons who’d found me after that last court scene, sitting staring into empty space amongst the empty costume racks.

“Do you want to tell me that story now?” he asked gently as he handed me the bobble-less grey knit bobble hat. Obviously he’d noticed the small exchange between Tom and I. To be frank, you would probably have had to be blind to have missed it. 

“Not really.” I murmured dully as I dropped the hat into a small box and stood to help Jeremy remove the delightful fur coat that he wore. He nodded as he shrugged out of the coat and looked at me contemplatively as I hung it up.

“Fair enough,” he said eventually. “But may I tell you something?”

I shrugged a little in response.

“Men are idiots,” Jeremy told me with a small smile. I laughed at that. I already knew that one all too well. He grinned at me and left it at that.

But I’d been left to stew over it for a couple of days and I was honestly ready to slap Tom’s face myself when I saw him. It hadn’t hurt, when he pushed my hand away. Well, not physically, but the damage to my pride was enormous.

He ignored me completely when he turned up at the studios and so I left him to his own devices while I helped with the extras’ costumes. It’s not like he needed any help to dress anyway – the costume for this scene was only a towel, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to put one of those on. Besides, once he was out of the dressing room, the makeup people were the ones who would be spending the time on him, painting a healing wound onto his shoulder and then spraying him with water to make it look like he’d been sweating it out in a sauna.

As much as I tried to remain detached and cool, I definitely gawped with the rest of them when Tom and David finally took their positions on set. It was difficult not to when you had two gorgeous, mostly naked, spray-soaked men reciting Shakespeare. I was annoyed with myself for being so weak, but the memory of Tom’s body was still so raw and fresh in my mind. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel the way his hands had touched me, long fingers brushing lightly over my skin, winding in my hair, sliding down my thighs and lifting me up, wrapping my legs around him. I could feel the muscles of his strong shoulders under my palms and how soft his hair was against my breasts as we lay there afterwards.

I had to grab the wall for support, my knees suddenly weak at the memory. To my right, two makeup girls whispered and giggled and I growled at them to grow up before stalking away, my breathing shaky.

It was a long day for me. There were endless changes of camera angle and various takes and cuts and breaks for lunch and touch-ups and reviews. All the while I was tortured by Tom’s lean body on display, curls damp and messy, those shoulders like pure pornography to my eyes. By the time the scene wrapped, I was an absolute mess. 

I had also temporarily forgotten that Tom and I were not on speaking terms and promptly got the door of the dressing room slammed in my face when I tried to follow him. The anger that had disappeared during my lust-fuelled day hit me like a tidal wave all over again and I stood in front of the closed door until it opened again ten minutes later.   
My palms fell flat on his chest and pushed with every ounce of strength I possessed, sending Tom sprawling backwards into the room again. I followed, slamming the door forcefully behind me.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I yelled at him. I felt like an erupting volcano, all my pent-up rage exploding violently. Tom’s blue eyes widened in shock as he struggled to regain his balance, but his surprise was quickly replaced by a determinedly set jaw as he squared off against me. He was a good few inches taller than I and loomed over me like a giant, big and intimidating but I did not shrink back or cower. My hackles were up and my rage overflowing and I was ready for a fight.

“My problem?” Tom hissed back at me. “You are! I have two days off to think about things and when I come back, you’ve abandoned me!” 

“I abandoned _you_?” I said disbelievingly. “That’s rich coming from the man who has sex with a girl and then just walks out afterwards! Do you do that to everyone you sleep with or only when you realise you’ve ‘made a mistake’?”

Was being mean, but I didn’t care. I was seriously angry now. I saw Tom’s jaw twitch and his eyes turn to ice.

“Nice, Kate. Very mature,” he replied scathingly, his arms folded defensively across his chest. “Although I don’t know what I expected from the woman who obviously couldn’t bear to look at me after sleeping with me, so much so that she asked to work with somebody else!” 

At that second, I realised that I had been right all along. We’d just misunderstood each other. And we probably could have easily come back from it if he hadn’t said what he had next.

“How did you like working with Jeremy, Kate? Was he better than me? Did you manage to sleep with him too?”

As quickly as my rage had begun to ebb, it was back again. My blood boiled and I shoved him back harshly into a wall where he smacked his head. I hoped it hurt. His eyes widened as I pinned him to the wall with my arm over his chest exerting all my strength as I raised myself on the balls of my feet. I must have looked menacing because for a second, Tom looked terrified.

“Before you go around accusing, you may want to get you facts straight, Thomas.” I hissed dangerously. “I didn’t ask to work with Jeremy. Annie put me in charge of a project that overlapped with your wardrobe. In case you didn’t realise, being trusted with more responsibility looks very good on job applications if I ever hope to get a better paid job than this in the future. She then put me in charge of Jeremy’s wardrobe because he started after you!”

Tom’s expression turned to horror as he realised his mistake and I couldn’t help but feel a little triumphant. I let go of him and took a step back.

“That’s right. It’s not all about you.” I told him quietly. He was pale and looked like he was going to be sick, taking in deep breaths.

“Katy...” he started quietly, but I cut him short.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare call me Katy, not after what you just said to me.” I growled and he shut his mouth, running a hand nervously through his hair. He looked at me, eyes full of apology. I knew exactly what he was going to say next.

“I’m sor...”

“Don’t you fucking say you’re sorry!” I exploded. “You say sorry so much that it holds absolutely no meaning now, whatsoever! It’s just empty words.” I turned away from him, crossed to the door and yanked it open furiously. “We’re done,” I added, pivoting in the doorway and glowering at him. “Whatever we may or may not have had, Tom...it’s over.”

“Kate!” I heard him yell after me, but I slammed the door shut behind me and marched off, fuming quietly to myself and in desperate need of my sister to calm me down.


	8. Chapter 8

“What a fucking dickhead!” Liz exclaimed that evening, chopping into my hair with a pair of deadly-looking scissors as I sat on a kitchen chair in my flat, sipping wine from a tumbler. My sister was a senior stylist at one of the more prestigious hairdressers in Knightsbridge. As a result, her hair was immaculate, but she was always annoyed that I never took advantage of her skills. Hence when I had text her, asking if she could come around so I could vent about the day’s incident with Tom, she had announced that she would be there with scissors. I currently had no idea what she was doing, but I’d had most of a bottle of wine by that point and didn’t really care.

I nodded sagely in agreement with her statement.

“Fuck him.” I replied. Liz started to snicker.

“No darling, that’s what got you into this mess in the first place!” She said and I giggled with her. “Although,” she continued, swiping my glass and taking a large gulp of wine before handing it back to me. “Sometimes, there is nothing better than good old angry hate sex!”

“I don’t hate him, Lizzy.” I sighed, swirling the wine around the glass and sloshing some over the side accidentally. 

“I know.” She murmured in response. “That’s the problem.”

I was quiet as Liz snipped at my hair a couple more times.

“There!” She said triumphantly. “Go have a look in the mirror.”

I slid ungracefully from the chair and make my way unsteadily to the mirror in my hallway. Liz had totally transformed my hair. She’d re-cut the outgrown layers and taken the weight out of the lengths so that it looked bouncy and healthy. I was greatly impressed. I’d go into work the next day with a fabulous new hair-do and everything would be great.  
In truth, I went to work with a bit of a hangover, but at least my hair looked good. 

Immediately, Tom was apologetic and trying desperately to make up for how cruel he’d been the day before. 

“Kate, please talk to me.” He begged quietly. I ignored him as I unbuttoned the gorgeous red leather jacket and held it out for him to put on. He tried a different tactic. “Your hair looks nice,” Tom tried, but I just sighed irritably and shook the jacket impatiently. “Oh come on, Kate. What do I have to do to get you to even look at me?”

I wasn’t going to talk to him or look at him. I dropped the jacket on the floor, turned and walked out, although I felt terribly guilty about dropping the gorgeous garment on the ground. A lot of love and hard work had gone into making it and maintaining it and here I was just throwing it around. But it would probably do Tom some good to suffer a little humility.

Losing myself amongst the crew, I sat on a stool in the corner of the tavern set and busied myself with checklists while everything got set up. When Tom eventually wandered onto set, he was immersed in discussion with Richard Eyre and Maxine Peake for a good ten minutes and I tried to ignore his glances in my direction. I hated not being able to hear the conversation. For some reason, it felt as though what was about to come would affect me in some way.

When the cameras finally started rolling, it became apparent very quickly indeed why Tom had kept glancing at me during his conversation with Richard and Maxine. The original plan was that Doll would be sitting on Hal’s knee when the Sherriff entered the tavern, therefore giving Hal the excuse of having ‘gone wenching’ for his alibi of being there. However, she was doing much more than just sitting on his knee.

I was forced to watch take after take after take of Tom kissing Maxine. Not like the sweet tender kiss that King Henry gave to Princess Katharine. This was raw, and dirty with one of Tom’s hands a long way up her skirt, the other tangled in her hair and her hand down between his legs. The worst thing was the sounds Tom was making, those small, appreciative moans. Between each take, Tom would glance in my direction and I would have look away to the floor, the ceiling, the crew, with rage slowly simmering inside my chest.

I was close to marching over and punching Maxine in the face until I remembered that the poor woman probably had no idea what was really going on. She was just doing her job. She was just acting. Tom on the other hand was doing this on purpose. And the green-eyed monster of jealousy had shown its ugly head at last. 

Unable to stand it any longer, I stomped off furiously as soon as the next cut was called and made for the privacy of Tom’s allocated dressing room where, slamming the door behind me, I promptly kicked over a chair and screamed at the empty room. What the hell was Tom playing at? Was that a ploy to get my attention? Because he certainly had it, and not in the way he’d wished for, I was sure of it.

The door opened minutes later, closing swiftly again as Tom entered and stepped towards me. And that’s when I slapped him. Hard. My palm stung with the force of the blow and his head snapped back, his blue eyes widening in surprise. For a second it was satisfying to see his cheek reddening where my hand had come into contact with it, but then a wave of concern hit me just like it had when Jeremy had slapped him in the court scene.

Before I really knew what I was doing, I grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled him to me, my lips meeting his in a harsh kiss. His hands barely had time to brush my arms before I pulled away from him and slapped him again for good measure. Tom blinked, his mouth open in shock and slowly raised his hand to his face, gingerly touching the reddening skin.

“I suppose I deserved that.” He murmured softly. I was shaking with a mixture of rage and want, my heart pounding fast as adrenaline raced through my veins.

“Yes, you did.” I replied quietly. His cheek looked sore and I reached up to touch it. This time when he caught my wrist, it wasn’t to push me away. Our lips met again in hurried, frenzied kisses, Tom’s hands in my hair and the on back of my neck. My own hands pulled at the black cotton shirt of his costume, frantically searching for the soft skin of his stomach underneath. All my hurt, all my anger, melted away in a fierce clash of tongues, mine fighting for dominance over his, gaining and losing all in the same moment. 

I was on fire for him again. Just as I had the day before, I pushed Tom backwards against the wall, pinning him there with my body as my hands roamed up over his sides and he groaned softly into my mouth. We broke apart a moment later, both gasping for breath. Tom’s blue eyes were dark under half-closed lids and he slid his hands gently down the sides of my neck.

“I missed you,” he breathed softly. “I missed you so much.”

My breath came out in a dry sob and I placed ghost kisses on his jaw.

“I missed you, too.” I confessed, wrapping my arms around his neck and dipping my fingers under the collar of his shirt to stroke the soft skin there.

“I’m sorry. I really am so sorry, Katy.” Tom whispered into my hair and I nodded. I knew he meant it. He kissed me again, slowly, sweetly, sliding a hand down to my waist and pulling me close. 

And then it happened again, that sharp rap on the door of the dressing room that caused us to jump away from each other guiltily, our hands dropping to our sides in an instant.

“Tom, Richard needs you to watch this playback,” said an unfamiliar voice, muffled by wood.

“I’ll be there in a minute.” Tom called back. We looked at each other and Tom let put a small huffed laugh, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. I smiled.

“You’d better go or Richard will be breaking the door down in a minute,” I told him quietly.

“Right. Yeah,” Tom replied and started to walk slowly backwards to the door, still watching me as he pulled it open and paused. “Haircut really does suit you, by the way.” He grinned and darted out of the room, leaving me alone and smiling to myself. 

It was at that point that I realised that I was no longer dangerously close to falling for him. It had already happened.


	9. Chapter 9

Despite the frenzied kisses and whispered apologies, Tom was far from off the hook. I was putting it down to a momentary lapse of concentration brought on by wild rage and jealousy. Slapping Tom had not been a surprise to me. He had absolutely deserved that, for the childish disregard that had gone on for weeks, for basically calling me a whore, for provoking a reaction out of me by acting like a complete whore himself. No, I definitely had not forgiven him yet. 

But in the back of my mind, I knew that if I was going to forgive him, I was going to have to do it soon. We were coming up on the end of filming in a little over a week and then Tom would disappear out of my life, flying all over the world for photo calls and interviews and premieres and then onto filming more movies far away from me. It was something that I honestly didn’t want to think about. As angry as I was with him, I didn’t want him to leave.

Tom knew that I was still upset with him though, reading it in my body language and to his credit, he didn’t push it past ‘hello’, ‘thank you’ and ‘good bye’ for the next couple of days. I scurried around in my usual mouse-like fashion, draping fabric, adjusting belts, sewing up frayed hemlines as Tom played the professional actor to the hilt, his politeness and courtesy wearing me down. Take by take, I found my walls coming down, responding to his murmured thanks, even smiling at one point. I even laughed when he accidentally sprayed me with water when I was trying to fix a loose thread.

The part that finally broke me however, was his uncannily accurate impression of Jeremy Irons. 

I think only Richard Eyre had known he was going to do it, because the first time it happened, the whole cast were astounded and we all broke down into fits of giggles. He even had Jeremy’s facial expressions pegged, and his hand gestures. I don’t know how long it had taken Tom to study Jeremy and get his impression perfect but it definitely was spot-on. The first few takes were unusable because everyone was laughing too hard, but they soon became better once everybody got used to it.

“You’re going to win a BAFTA for this, you know.” I said to him hours later when filming had wrapped for the day. He grinned at me as I folded up a large tan shawl.

“Well that’s very kind, but probably not.” Tom replied. Sometimes his modesty was infuriating, but I said no more about it. I wasn’t going to argue the case with him, but I knew perfectly well he’d be at the very least BAFTA nominated for The Hollow Crown, if not winner.

It was only after he was changed and the costume safely hanging back up on its rack that Tom spoke to me again, fidgeting nervously.

“Kate, I....I was wondering how you were getting home today?”

I retrieved my bag and coat from their place in the corner of the room and frowned.

“Same way as usual,” I replied. “By tube.” I lived in Finchley which, by London standards, was just down the road from Ealing. Twenty minutes after leaving, I could be at my front door. I watched as Tom shifted his weight from one leg to the other and ran a hand through his hair.

“Would you trust me to take you somewhere this evening and then drop you back home?” He asked quietly.

“Last time I got in a car with you, it caused a few problems.” I said, raising my eyebrows as I shrugged on my coat. In fact, we were only just starting to get over the problems it had caused. Tom smiled a little and bit his lip.

“I promise I won’t take advantage this time.” He replied and I had to laugh slightly.

“All this time I thought I’d been the one taking advantage.” I murmured.

“I suppose that all depends on which way you look at it.” 

Tom looked at me carefully as I stalled for time by slowly buttoning up my coat. One part of my brain was screaming at me to turn him down, to walk out of here and get the tube back to Finchley so I could sit around in my pyjamas, eating ice cream and watching telly, safe. The other part was telling me that you only live once and that risks are sometimes worth taking. I’d never really been much of a risk taker though.

“Alright,” I said eventually. What the hell, eh? “Where was it you wanted to take me?”

“Parliament Hill.” Tom replied immediately, a grin spreading across his face. My eyebrows shot up again.

“It’s a bit dark for kite-flying.”

“Yes, but it’s the perfect time of day for the best views.” Tom held his hand out to me smiling and, after a second’s hesitation, I took it.

~

The drive to Hampstead was quiet but for the radio playing softly in the background. I looked out of the passenger-side window for most of the journey, not really used to the sights of London traffic at night. That’s the thing when your commute takes place mostly underground – you see plenty of the darkness, but no lights.

We pulled up in the East Heath Road car park which was pretty much deserted at this time of night. Tom, with a blanket stuffed under one arm, took my hand and practically pulled me all the way across the Heath to the top of Parliament Hill. It was cold and I was so out of breath by the time we got there that my lungs felt like they were full of glass. He unfurled the blanket, draped it on the partially frozen ground and I collapsed onto it gratefully. Tom gracefully sat down next to me, grinning. His breathing was barely elevated at all and I scowled at him.

“Sorry, I forgot that it was a bit of a climb.” Tom chuckled.

“No, really? A bit?” I replied sarcastically, which just made Tom laugh more.

“Worth it for the view though. Don’t you think?”

Honestly, I hadn’t even glanced up yet, too concerned with the burning sensation of ice ripping my lungs to shreds but I followed his gaze outward. The sight was breathtaking. You could see all of London from way up here, all glowing an eerie orange from the millions of streetlamps that lit it up and punctuated by the white light that shone out from the windows of every high office block. You could clearly see the huge white dome of St Paul’s Cathedral to the right and behind it, stretching far higher than any other building, piercing the skyline like a needle, was The Shard, still in its final stages of completion. It was breathtaking, and I forgot all about the pain in my lungs.

“Twenty eight years.” I muttered. Sensing Tom’s blue eyes on me, I tore myself away from the vision before me and looked at him. “I’ve lived in London for twenty eight years, my entire life, and I’ve never seen this before.” I clarified. Tom raised his eyebrows.

“Really?” He asked and I nodded, pulling my knees up and hugging them to my chest. Tom looked back out at the view. “I used to come out here all the time with my dad when I was a kid.” He told me quietly.

We chatted for a while, about our families and the activities we got up to as kids. I felt like an uncultured ruffian next to the gorgeous man sitting by my side who went to Eton and grew up practically eating Shakespeare for breakfast, who studied classics at Cambridge and went to RADA. He’d visited places all over the world while I’d spent pretty much my whole life in London with the odd family trip to Skegness. I’d gone to the local comprehensive school and barely scraped decent enough grades to be accepted to my fashion degree at West London College, although I’d managed to finish with a First, so Tom and I were on equal footing there at least. 

And yet he had done so much more with his life than I had done with mine. He’d pursued the career of his dreams while I had grabbed the first job that had come along. I’d only done it to get my foot on the employment ladder, planning on moving up to bigger and better things but somehow, instead of working as a designer of Julian McDonald, I was a mid-level costumer for the BBC. Nothing at all to be ashamed of, but it just hadn’t been my dream. It made me feel very melancholy and our conversation drifted off into silence.

“Are you alright?” Tom asked me gently and I forced a smile and rubbed my gloved hands together vigorously.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just cold.”

He smiled at me softly, reached over and took both of my hands in his before bringing them to his lips and breathing on them lightly. His eyes closed slightly and even in the darkness I could see how long his eyelashes were, lying dark against the fair skin of his cheeks. He was so beautiful, and I could feel my heart beating too fast once again, heat flooding to my face even as his breath warmed my hands. A minute later, he stopped and looked up with a smile.

“Any better?” Tom asked quietly.

“Much.” I whispered in reply. We seemed to stare at each other for a long time, even though it could have only been a few seconds, but time stopped on that hill for a while. His hands had still not let go of mine. And then it was like we both took a breath at the same time and the spell was shattered once again, warmth seeping away to be replaced only by the cold night air.

“Come on,” Tom said suddenly, getting to his feet and holding a hand out to help me do the same. “I’d best take you home.”

I nodded dumbly and he draped the blanket around my shoulders for the trip back down the hill to the car. Tom drove me back to my flat in Finchley and again, the car journey was quiet with me only speaking to give him my address and to confirm the directions he was to take. It seemed like no time at all until we pulled up outside my front door.

“Goodnight, Katy.” He said quietly and this time I didn’t rebuke him for his use of the pet name. I bid him goodnight and went inside, closing the door behind me and leaning against it heavily. It was only a few minutes later, after Tom had driven away that I realised the blanket was still around my shoulders and I sighed.

Maybe it was best that he was leaving in a week’s time. I wasn’t nearly good enough for a man like Tom, and he certainly deserved better than a screw-up like me. No matter how much it hurt, these were facts that I was just going to have to accept.


	10. Chapter 10

By the time I turned up on set the next day I knew that things between Tom and I had changed, although they would never be back to the way they had been before all our trouble started. I was still suffering under the weight of my own inadequacies, but the moment I set eyes on him that day it was almost as though they never mattered. The uneasy strain that had held since Tom and I had shared that furious kiss in the dressing room had given way in a single night, replaced by a completely different brand of tension.

For the next couple of days, we never managed to get each other alone. The studio was swarming with people and there was always somebody demanding Tom’s attention or mine. In the mornings, Hair and Makeup were with us in the dressing room, tripping over themselves and each other to get Tom ready for the day’s filming. If it wasn’t them, then it was Richard trying to discuss direction or Simon, David or Julie talking to Tom about lines or positions or scenes.

We tried to talk, we really did. But we never seemed to make it past the pleasantries before we were interrupted again. Every time I opened my mouth to speak, or he did, there was always somebody there to distract us from our primary goal. Even at the end of the day, when the scene had wrapped and the costume had been hung up for the day, we seemed to miss each other and I ended up going home alone on the tube. I wondered if Tom and I were ever going to get the chance to talk before the end of the week.

When I woke up the next day, the temperature was warmer, but it was drizzling rain so I left my thick winter coat at home in favour of my trusty Burberry raincoat. It was almost the end of The Hollow Crown and I was starting to feel despair tug at the edges of my mind and pool in the pit of my stomach. Once again, Tom and I never seemed to get a moment alone together, all the spaces filled with glances that were held a little too long, touches that lingered a little more than they should. It was as if the world were conspiring against us even more than normal. I lingered in the background with the crew during the filming and watched the actors do their job superbly as usual. It was hard, having him there, just a few feet away and not being able to talk to him. Tomorrow was the final day, and we’d wasted so much of the time we had with our utter idiocy, and here he was just slipping from my grasp.

My mood was lifted a little by the end of the day, as the actors changed and the costumes hung up, the rumour went around saying that it was raining heavily.

“Do you want a lift home?” Tom asked me quietly as I ventured out of the dressing room to see what all the fuss was about. I accepted it immediately.

However, when we got to the door of the studios, we realised that the rain wasn’t only heavy, it was torrential. Raindrops a big as golf balls were hitting the pavement and water was rushing along the road in streams. I would have probably been drowned if I’d tried to get the tube home in this.

“Good God,” Tom breathed, looking over my shoulder to the watery world outside. “We’re going to get soaked just getting to the car!” I nodded. I could see Tom’s rental car not that far away. We could get to it in about forty seconds if we ran. I felt the brush of his fingers against mine as he took my hand firmly in his and I looked up to see him grinning at me.

We did run, as fast as we possibly could with Tom streaming out ahead of me with his long legs and me tripping along behind him, rainwater sloshing inside of my shoes, making me squeal aloud at the freezing wet sensation. The car lights flashed on as the door was unlocked and Tom let go of my hand to let me wrench open the passenger door and tumble into seat, just as Tom fell into the driver’s side and we slammed the doors shut.

We were saturated from head to toe, large droplets of water rolling off the end of my nose and dripping down the back of my neck. The rain had even soaked through my so-called raincoat. Tom and I looked at each other and started to laugh.

“Oh my god, where did that come from?” I exclaimed, unbuttoning my coat and shrugging it off as Tom did the same, our outer garments too wet to sit in. 

“I have no idea.” He replied as he took my coat from me and tossed it carefully onto the back seat with his own and I paused to take in the water damage. My jeans were sodden and heavy and my shirt was damp and clinging to my skin, my shoes waterlogged. Tom’s clothing looked to be in a similar state. He shook his head slightly, sending tiny water drops everywhere, then ran his hands through his blond hair and chuckled.

“Well, that was refreshing!” Tom chuckled and I laughed with him, pulling the visor down to check my makeup damage. My mascara was starting to seep slowly down my face and I wiped under my eyes hastily with the back of my hand.

“Oh no, I look like a panda.” I groaned, looking at Tom forlornly as I snapped the visor shut again. He gave a breathy huff of laughter.

“No you don’t.” He said, reaching out to peel a soaked tendril of hair from my cheek. “You look beautiful.” 

Tom lowered his hand almost immediately but I could feel the tingle on my face where he’d touched me. His eyes were blue-grey as he looked at me calmly, steadily, all the laughter gone from his eyes, replaced with sincerity. I could barely breathe again, the hammering of my heart in my chest almost as loud as the enormous raindrops hitting the windscreen and the top of the car.

And then I gave an involuntary shiver, my body reacting to the cold, wet clothing clinging to my skin and Tom sprang to action

“How inconsiderate of me, you must be freezing.” He muttered, inserting the key into the ignition and turning. The car roared to life with a metallic grating and Tom leaned over and turned the heat up to full. The windows had already begun to steam up, but as the windscreen wipers were turned on, the heaters swiftly cleared it. I pushed my wet hair from my face and dragged the damp cuffs of my shirt down over my hands, slumping in the seat as I fastened the belt.

It seemed to be a habit now for us not to talk to each other in the car, and this journey was the same, with only the radio breaking the silence with its soft music. When we pulled up to the front door of my flat, Tom made no move to turn off the engine and I sighed. I wasn’t about to let him escape me tonight.

“Are you not coming in?”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” He replied softly, watching as I collected my coat from the back seat and handed him his own

“Tom, you’re saturated. If you sit in those clothes much longer your nose will swell up just in time for you to go flying off to...wherever it is you’re going.” 

It occurred to me then that, even though I’d known all along that he’d be going away almost as soon as filing wrapped, I had no idea where to. I should have known that tiny bit of information. Either way, Tom looked at me, unsure.

“Come in, dry off.” I continued. “I’ve got sweet & sour chicken in the fridge.”

The last part made Tom laugh and his resolve cracked.

“Oh well, in that case, how can I refuse?”

We didn’t get much wetter in the short distance from the car to my flat and once safely inside, I hung our dripping coats up in the hallway. 

“Just leave your clothes on the sofa and I’ll get you something to wear.” I called over my shoulder as I disappeared into my room, quickly stripping off my own sodden clothes and dumping them in the laundry basket before quickly slipping on sweatpants and my favourite oversized jumper that had once belonged to an ex boyfriend. Grabbing a couple of towels and my big blue fleecy bathrobe from the back of the door, I ventured back into the living room.

Tom was in his underwear, his wet clothes folded haphazardly over the arm of the couch and he was looking around, running his hand nervously through his hair. Droplets of water dripped steadily onto his shoulders and I could see his chest rise and fall rapidly. It was so familiar to me, transporting me back to a night in cold January, in a trailer, Tom fresh out of the shower, steam rising from his body, the taste of fresh sweet coffee on his lips. I felt myself grow hot and I tore my eyes away, clearing my throat loudly.

“Here,” I said, stepping into the room and handing him a towel and the bathrobe which he took with a grateful smile before wrapping himself in the robe and drying his hair vigorously. I used the other towel to dry mine one-handed while I wandered into the kitchen to turn on the oven and heat up the Chinese. 

Tom was sitting on the sofa when I wandered back through, turned sideways on the cushion while trying to cover his leg as much as the towelling fabric of the robe would allow. I mirrored him as I sat and he smiled at me, propping his head up on his hand, elbow resting on the back of the sofa.

“This is a bit awkward, isn’t it?” He murmured and I couldn’t help but smile.

“A bit.” I agreed softly. We drifted back into silence, just looking at each other from opposite ends of the couch.

“I’m sorry” He said after a while and I huffed.

“Again with the ‘sorry’. What are you sorry for now?”

Tom sighed as he turned to sit properly on the sofa and ran a hand through his hair.

“Everything. Well, maybe not everything but, definitely the way I’ve handled everything.” He sighed again and looked at me. “We’re actually idiots, aren’t we?”

“Yes.” I agreed simply and Tom chuckled.

“Seeing you first thing on a morning used to be the highlight of my day,” he said softly. “You were always so sweet and cheerful and chatty, no matter what unearthly time of the day it might have been. My lovely Katy, always there with a smile. And then I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin it.” I whispered.

“Yes I did.” Tom said sadly, resting his head back on the sofa cushion, looking up the ceiling. “If I hadn’t have kissed you, none of the bad stuff would have happened. We could have just carried on to the end of this without it getting complicated.”

I watched him as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He had a point, that things would never have got to this stage if he hadn’t kissed me. I remembered his eyes, dark and hungry as he stalked towards me, pressing me back against the small table in the trailer, the gentle scratch of his goatee against my chin as he pressed his lips against mine. I remember never wanting it to stop. I hadn’t wanted any of it to stop.

“Was it all that bad?” I said quietly and Tom looked at me again.

“Oh God, no.” He whispered back. My heart skipped a beat. “I never set out to hurt you, Kate.” He continued. “But by the time I realised that no matter what I did, that was going to be the result...it was already too late.”

“It’s not all your fault. I never stopped you.”

“Maybe you should have.”

“I didn’t want to.” I told him firmly. “Because sometimes you have to take the chance, no matter what the cost is.”

It sounded strangely philosophical coming from me, but I knew it was true. That was the reason I’d kissed him back in the trailer, why I’d jumped on him in the corridor of my hotel, why I’d walked up that stupid hill with him. We’d known it was doomed from the start, but we’d still taken the chances. The only regret for both of us was our abject stupidity over it all, the jealousy, the anger.

I saw Tom open his mouth to reply, and then he stopped frowning.

“Is something burning?”

“The food!” I exclaimed, jumping off the sofa and running to the kitchen, just as the smoke alarm started to blare. The chicken was burned to a crisp and had to be scraped into the bin while Tom dealt with the alarm. 

“I’m sorry about that.” I said forlornly. “Here I was, temping you inside with the promise of food and now I’ve gone and burnt it.”

“Not to worry,” Tom chuckled as he stepped towards me and rubbed the top of my arms gently. “I wasn’t really hungry anyway.”

It was starting to get late and when I checked Tom’s clothes, they were still very damp. I suggested that he could stay with me and he agreed, but insisted on taking the sofa. I left him with a pillow and a spare duvet and climbed into my own bed, alone. I lay there for an hour thinking of the conversation we’d had, unable to get to sleep with it going around and around in my head and knowing that Tom was just next door. In the end, I threw the covers back and padded quietly to the living room.

“The sofa isn’t very comfortable.” I called into the darkness and I heard the sofa rustle as Tom sat up. I could feel his blue eyes burning into me from the other side of the room and I knew he’d been lying awake too. “Come in with me?”

I held out my hand into the gloom and Tom hesitated for a second. And then I heard the covers being thrown aside and the sofa springs squeak, and then his tall figure rose and strode towards me, reaching out and taking my hand.

As we slipped under the covers, I lay with my back to him and he curled up against me. His arm went around my waist, one hand slipping a little way under my camisole to stroke softly at my stomach with his thumb. I could feel his warm breath on my bare shoulder as he nuzzled into me and for the first time in a long while I felt safe, secure. It wasn’t long before Tom’s breathing levelled out and I knew he was asleep, his thumb now stationary on my skin but still holding me close, and after a few minutes more, sleep finally took me too, wrapped safely in Tom’s embrace.


	11. Chapter 11

The bed was warm when I woke the next morning to the blare of the alarm clock. Warm, but empty. I could hear noises coming from my kitchen though, so I knew I hadn’t been abandoned. Hitting the alarm button, I slipped out of bed and pulled on a large fluffy cardigan and padded out of the bedroom, through the living room and into the kitchen.

Apart from the faint watermarks on the hems of his jeans, Tom’s clothes had dried sufficiently overnight for him to wear them again. He was pottering about my kitchen with the sleeves of his black cardigan rolled up to his elbows and was engrossed in the making of two cups of tea. I just hoped that the milk in my fridge was still in-date.

“Good morning.” Tom smiled up at me from the two thick patterned mugs before him and I did my best to smile back at him. It was difficult to do. Tom Hiddleston was making me tea, in my kitchen at six-thirty in the morning. And in twenty-four hours he’d be out of my life. It was a bit too much like torture.

“Morning.” I murmured back, sliding onto the tall stool at my kitchen counter and gratefully accepting the cup offered to me. The milk must have been fine. The atmosphere was tense. Everything that needed to be said had already been said. Anything more would just make it more painful. Discussing the fact that I’d spent the night with Tom pressed against my body, his hands stroking my bare skin, his steady breaths ruffling the hair next to my ear, would have been excruciating. It was easier to say nothing and to drink my tea in silence.

I showered and dressed and then argued against Tom driving me to work. I was pretty sure that by now there were rumours flying around the studios about the nature of our relationship and turning up together after also going home together the day before would have been very suspect and add fuel to the fire. But Tom insisted. There was no way that he was going to let me take the tube when he could easily drive me. He was too much of a gentleman.

It was the last day of filming. Wrap day. They would just be filming the last little bits of Tom’s scenes and then that was it. No more Hollow Crown, no more Tom. There was going to be a wrap party immediately after the last scene was done and everybody was happy and excited. Everyone except me, because this was it: the end of the line. While the champagne bottles were popped open and the cheers started up, I scurried away like the little mouse I was to retrieve my coat and bag. I left without catching anybody’s eye or saying a word to anyone. I very much doubted that I would be missed.

I bought a bottle of Pinot Grigio on the way home and once safely locked away in my flat, I ran a hot and deep bubble bath. The water was scorching and the heavenly bubbles scented lavender. My skin turned lobster-pink on contact but I sank into it gratefully, immersing myself up to my neck. I must have been in there about an hour, sipping my ice-cold wine and listening to Adele, which really didn’t help with the empty feeling I had. In the end though, it was probably better that I’d left when I did. Tom and I had nothing left to say to each other. It was all over. There was no point in prolonging the agony for either of us.

A while later, I was dried and wrapped up in my nightie and fluffy cardigan, watching Sliding Doors with a fresh glass in my hand and on my way to becoming tipsy when my doorbell rang. I glanced at my phone, noticing that I had no texts from Liz. She was the only person I could think of who would come over at this time of night, although she usually gave me a heads-up. I dragged myself from the sofa and pattered barefoot down the stairs, pulling my cardigan tightly around me to cover the flimsy satin nightwear and I opened the door. There was nobody on my doorstep. 

I was about to dismiss it as kids playing pranks when I glanced out into the orange glow of the lit street and spotted a familiar-looking car with a familiar-looking person behind the wheel. My heart missed a beat and despite my lack of footwear, I took a few steps out of the door. The man had been sitting with his forehead resting on the steering wheel. Possibly seeing my movement, he looked up. It was Tom. I watched with my heart in my throat as he very slowly sat up, then get out of the car and started walking towards me. He looked upset, his hair dishevelled from where he must have ran his hand through it many times. We stared at each other for a long time before Tom spoke.

“You left.” He said, his voice strained. My throat felt tight and I couldn’t reply, so instead, I nodded. I didn’t understand why he was here. Didn’t he know that I left the wrap party for our own good? To save us from the awkward goodbye and the inevitable heartache that goes with it? Now he was here, standing on my doorstep a nervous wreck and all I wanted to do was hold him and tell him that it would be alright, even if I knew that it wasn’t. I reached out and took his hand, pulling him into the flat and closing the door. I led the way back up the stairs, Tom following silently into my living room.

I felt his arms wrap around my waist and I came to a standstill, taking in a sharp breath as he buried is face in the space between my neck and shoulder.

“I shouldn’t be here. It’s only going to make things worse.” He murmured, voice muffled by my skin. I nodded because he was right, but he was holding me tightly and I didn’t want him to let me go. 

“Tell me to leave, Katy.”

“No.” I said softly, turning to face him. “I don’t want you to leave. Stay with me tonight.”

He looked at me, his eyes grey and watery and he nodded. 

In my bedroom, clothes were stripped and left on the floor as we slipped under the duvet together. Our legs entwined and our arms wrapped around each other, gently stroking. Tom left soft kisses on my shoulder and my cheek and I lay there, breathing him in and tracing the defined muscles of his back with my fingertips. Nothing more than that.   
When I woke in the morning, Tom was already up and dressed, sitting on the edge of my bed and looking at me. He opened his mouth to speak but I silenced him with a finger on his lips. There was nothing more to say, and any goodbye would have hurt too much. Tom understood and placed a kiss on my fingertip before standing up and walking out of the room and out of my life. I waited until I heard the front door open and close before I let the tears fall.

I’ve never cried so hard or so long in my life.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this isn't the most interesting of chapters, but it was needed. Also, I know absolutely nothing about fashion, so please excuse any terrible inaccuracies.

Two days later, Liz arrived to literally pick me up off the floor. I hadn’t been into work since the morning Tom left my flat, and I’d thrown my phone across the room and shattered it against the wall so that I didn’t have to listen to the persistent ringing of Annie trying to find out where I was. Some concerned being had obviously informed my sister who found me passed out on the floor of my bedroom in a mild state of dehydration and starvation. She pretty much slapped some sense into me and then force-fed me toast and water and listened as I sobbed my heart out to her.

Then she told me to get a grip.

It worked, surprisingly enough. Once I’d cried all the tears my body could muster and had a shower to wash away two days worth of accumulated grime, I sat down with Liz and dug out my old portfolio. It was in a terrible state as I’d barely touched it since leaving university, but within a week I had added years worth of work to it. I also resigned from the BBC with immediate effect and set about trying to organise some interviews with some British designers. It was much harder than I’d first imagined.

I had decided to leave the BBC after a long, hard discussion with myself. It had never been where I wanted to end up in the long run. I’d wanted to design, to create for the best fashion houses in the country. That had been my dream when I’d started my fashion degree and I’d worked hard through university to make sure that I could follow it. But the working-class girl in me jumped for the first job that came may way. I got lazy with my steady income and slowly stopped applying for internships. I got stuck in a rut.

Unfortunately, I was too old and had too much experience to apply for internships now, so I had to aim higher. I was knocked back by Stella McCartney, Vivienne Westwood, Burberry and Alexander McQueen. It was a huge blow to my ego and I started to regret giving up my job at the BBC. My salvation came, after a month of knock-backs, in the form of Matthew Williamson. They actually called me and asked me to come in for an interview. I hadn’t expected that at all, but I went to the interview anyway, quite prepared to be knocked back again. But to my greatest surprise, I wasn’t. The interview was with the man himself and he flipped lightly through my portfolio and chatted amiably about design and fashion, and then offered me a design job on the spot. I think I’m still expecting to wake up and find it was a dream.

I loved working for Matthew Williamson immediately. I had a huge desk and I quickly covered it with design ideas, swatches of fabric and colour charts. We were designing for seasons a few years ahead and not every idea was approved of course. In fact that year, none of my designs made it into the seasonal selection, but I did get the opportunity to design a dress for the Duchess of Cambridge that she wore to an event near Christmas. I was immensely proud of myself.

My first Fashion Month was hectic, but amazing. September 6th to October 3rd found me jetting off to Fashion Weeks in New York, then London, then Milan and finally Paris, accompanying Matthew and the design team and helping with the transport of the collections, which was something I was quite used to. The days were filled with note taking on other fashion houses’ designs and tweaking our own collection pieces, but the evenings were filled with parties with champagne and canapés and mingling and dancing and gorgeous gowns. 

It was at one of these parties in Paris that I met Harry, a fashion photographer from Islington. He had a nice smile and quirky eyebrows and he was easy to talk to. For the first time in a good few months, I felt desired. And this time, the man in question was not completely unattainable. After a good few glasses of champagne, I went to bed with him. He asked for my phone number the next morning and I happily gave it to him. He went abroad for a lot of fashion shoots, but when he was home we went for dinner and saw movies together. I liked Harry. I enjoyed his company and his conversation and the way he made me feel good about myself. I was quite happy.

And then I got the phone call from Annie Symons back at the BBC. I’d pretty much forgotten about my whole life there in the months that I’d been working for Matthew Williamson, so it was a bit of a shock to hear her voice after so long. The Hollow Crown had been BAFTA nominated and our design team was up for Best Costume Design. I was invited to the award ceremony.

Liz was the first person I called after Annie hung up and she came over to my new East London flat in Baltimore Wharf, bearing gifts of wine.

“You know that if you go to the BAFTAs, you see him again, right?” Liz said as she poured wine into two oversized glasses and handed one to me. I sighed.

“Yeah, I know that.”

It was a tough decision to make. I would be sitting at a table with the design team and not the actors, so the chances are that I would avoid Tom completely. And after the ceremony I would just go home instead of to the after-party. It was entirely possible. I would just have to employ all the evasive techniques I knew to not cross Tom’s path. The thought of glimpsing him filled me with absolute panic though. In the months since I’d last saw him, I’d done everything I could to avoid coming into contact with anything to do with him. I deleted my social networking pages and I hadn’t gone to see The Avengers and refused to watch the finished product of The Hollow Crown in the summer, with the exception of Richard II because Tom had nothing to do with that one. My life had been successfully Tom-free and I’d finally managed to get to a stage where I was happy with everything. The last thing I needed was to have it all crashing down around me because of him.

Liz, in her usual fashion, told me to stop being pathetic and I accepted the invitation to the BAFTAs.

~~~~~~~

Come Sunday 10th February 2013, I found myself sitting in a gilded hairdresser’s chair staring out of the apricot-tinted windows of the prestigious Knightsbridge salon as Liz did my hair for the ceremony and the salon’s receptionist, Beverly, did my makeup for me. I was, of course, wearing the most spectacular piece of Matthew Williamson Haute Couture, all cream chiffon and intricate beading on the neckline. It felt so out of place on me, as I was the woman who always felt more comfortable in jeans. Even though I was now used to wearing designer clothes for work and for parties, I’d never worn anything like this. 

Clipping the last bit of hair into place, Liz spun me around in the chair to face the mirror. The woman staring back at me was not Catherine Robinson. She was some kind of gorgeous starlet with cascading hair and full red lips and a dress that fitted perfectly. She mirrored every movement that I made. Liz and Bev laughed at the shocked look on my face and reassured me that I was indeed staring at my own refection. In the end, I had to admit that I scrubbed up well.

My car arrived minutes later and I slipped the beaded evening bag onto my wrist and hugged my sister tightly before picking my way across the salon precariously in high heels.

“Good luck!” She called after me.

I felt increasingly terrified as the car drove me further towards my destination. I wasn’t at all used to Red Carpet appearances and I knew the cameras would be snapping away at me as they tried to determine who I was. They took pictures of everybody just in case they were somebody important. They were going to be disappointed when they found out that I was actually nobody.

Lights blinded me the second the car door opened and it took a few seconds of rather unattractive blinking for my eyes to adjust enough so that I could stand up and pick my way across the carpet. There were rows of people on both sides, blinding flashes of the photographers and reporters with microphones thrust in the faces of actors. It was disorientating and a little frightening and I found myself looking around wildly, trying to find the entrance of the building so I could get out of it all as quickly as possible.

And then my eyes locked with a pair of familiar-looking ones, blue-grey in colour. My heart stopped for a moment as the world around me slowed down. Tom was in the middle of an interview. He’d been chatting animatedly to the reporter when he’d looked away for a split second, directly at me. I watched as his mouth stopped moving, his eyes widened, his jaw dropped. The reporter was trying to get his attention but it fell on deaf ears for a number of seconds as he stared at me and I stared back. Then his eyes tore away from mine and everything around me sped up again. I felt that familiar flush over my cheeks and chest and my breathing was heavy, as though I’d just ran a mile. Tom was trying to get back into the flow of his interview, so I took advantage of his diverted attention and hurried for the entrance, my head ducked as I walked right past him.

I downed a glass of champagne the minute I was safely inside and had to lean heavily against a pillar while I got my bearings. I had to move quickly and find my old design team before Tom finished his interview and came inside. Grabbing a fresh glass, I straightened up and headed into the crowds.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone familiar with the BAFTAs will know that the Film awards take place in February whereas the Television awards take place in April/May. But I’ve kinda swapped them so that it’s the TV awards taking place in February.

Annie spotted me before I saw her, waving me over to the small group and enveloping me in a warm hug before pulling back and looking at my face.

“Darling, are you quite alright? You look as pale as a ghost!”

I gave her a shaky nod and swallowed half of my glass of champagne in one gulp. I wasn’t even doing a decent job of looking alright. Annie herded me to the side slightly and lowered her voice.

“Have you seen him yet?”

I glanced at her sharply. Oh, astute Annie Symons didn’t miss a beat. I knew exactly who she was referring to. To be honest, when I went off-grid after Tom left, I think everybody’s suspicions about us were confirmed. It’s not like we hid it very well, and Annie had been the person I had to answer to, to call in sick to and of course she had spotted a pattern and put the puzzle together. I suppose the reason for my shakiness was just as obvious to her.

“On the red carpet.” I answered quietly and Annie nodded.

“You’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.” She replied, rubbing my arm gently before steering me back to the group who all seemed pleased to see me and I was suddenly bombarded by questions about my new job.

I didn’t see Tom again before the awards started. I was protected by a circle of costumers, and when we went to sit at our table, they seemed to automatically steer me into a specific seat with my back to the actors and penned in on both sides by friendly faces. I can’t say that I wasn’t a tiny bit glad of it. Wine flowed freely during the ceremony but I tried to have a full glass of water for each glass of wine. It was my arch nemesis and I really shouldn’t drink it because of the terrible hangovers it gives me but that night I was just praying that all the water would keep me in balance.

Our costume design didn’t win the BAFTA. That particular award went to an Edwardian drama, which I knew it would because the dresses of that era were so much prettier than medieval men’s clothes, and then there were the men’s suits which were always a hit with the masses. We had known we wouldn’t win it, but it didn’t matter because it was still great to have been nominated. The winner of the Best Male Lead award however, did not surprise me in the least. Tom Hiddleston.

I politely joined in with the applause as I watched him take the stage, my heart hammering inside my chest. Out on the red carpet, I didn’t really have the time to take in what he looked like, but here I could see everything. His hair was a little shorter than it had been in Henry IV but still the same shade of blond. He also had an attractive growth of scruff, not anywhere near the length of his Henry V beard but long enough to be noticeable even from a distance.

Tom strode across the stage confidently to accept his award, smiling happily as he gave his acceptance speech, in which he thanked just about everyone except the Queen. I found myself smiling at his easy charm, modesty and understated humour despite my rapidly-beating heart and underlying nervousness.

The rest of the ceremony passed by in a blur, fuelled by wine and punctuated by applause. It must have been close to midnight by the time it came to a close. I made my excuses to the others and insisted that I had to go home, knowing that I had to get out of there fast before Tom found me. But I ran quite literally into Thea Sharrock on my way towards the exit and she insisted that I went to the after party.

“What do you mean, you’re not coming?” Thea demanded, a hand on each of my shoulders, grasping me firmly. She was quite obviously a little tipsy and not in the mood to take no for an answer.

“I have to go to work in the morning,” I replied feebly, already knowing I’d lost.

“No you don’t, Catherine!” Thea exclaimed, already turning me and leading me towards the exit. “It’s the BAFTAs. Everybody knows that you don’t go to work the day after the BAFTAs, so come on and enjoy the after party with everybody else!”

~~~~

There were a fair few people that I knew at the after party, mostly costumers that I had worked with on other projects through the years. It seemed at though everyone in the world knew of my transfer into the fashion industry and I was met with many congratulations. It was also very crowded so I thought my chances of seeing Tom at all were slimmer than I’d originally believed. In fact, I was more than a little surprised to see a beaming Jeremy Irons heading towards me.

“Kate!” He exclaimed happily as he pulled me into a brief hug. “It’s very good to see you again.”

“You too,” I admitted as he pulled back and held me at arm’s length.

“I’m sorry your team didn’t win. It’s always the bloody Edwardian dramas, eh?”

I chuckled and nodded my head. It was great to see Jeremy again and he, like many others I’d bumped into that night, congratulated me on my career move.

“How are you enjoying your move into fashion then?” He enquired as we made our way through the crowds to the small space where people had started dancing.

“It’s good. Hectic, but I’m really enjoying it.”

“Better than the last job?” Jeremy asked, eying me sharply.

I didn’t really know how to answer that one, so I looked down at my hands and played with the wrist strap of my evening bag.

“It wasn’t that the last one was bad,” I said slowly. “It’s just that a lot of things happened that put my life into perspective. I needed to move on.” In more ways than one, I added silently to myself. The song playing switched to something a bit slower and Jeremy and I took to the floor. I wasn’t the world’s best dancer, especially not in those heels, but we managed to sway in time quite well. Our conversation tailed off for a moment while I tried not to stand on his toes but one I found my dancing feet, it started up again.

“So, I see Tom Hiddleston did very well at the awards.” Jeremy said lightly. I immediately felt the colour rise to my cheeks.

“Yes, he did.”

Jeremy was studying me again with his sharp eyes, just like he had on that afternoon the previous year when Tom had roughly pushed my hand away from him in front of a roomful of people.

“Everybody knew, you know.” He said after a moment and I looked at him in alarm.

“What do you mean?”

“You and Tom.” He clarified and my blush grew rapidly. “It was obvious that something was going on, even if nobody knew exactly what that was. They were all rooting for you.”

I looked away and took a couple of deep breaths. Of course everybody had known. In a way, I already knew that. It was only the shock of having it confirmed that had me in a state. Tom and I hadn’t exactly hid it well, our meaningful looks, our fights, even our make-ups. I would have been an idiot to think it would have gone unnoticed.

“It didn’t really go very well.” I said meekly and Jeremy grinned at me.

“I guessed as much.” He said and I grinned back. Suddenly, his expression changed as he looked over my shoulder. “Speaking of the Devil…” He murmured and I turned my head slightly just in time to see Tom reach us.

My heart almost stopped in shock. I had no idea how Tom had managed to locate me in this room crammed to the rafters with people but here he was.

“May I?” Tom interjected, his hand outstretched, looking first at me, then at Jeremy who raised an eyebrow at me.

“If it’s acceptable for the lady,” He told Tom, not taking his eye off me.

I looked wildly between the two men before noticing that my head was nodding of its own accord. I felt Jeremy release my hand and it was almost instantly replaced by Tom’s as he drew me close. I had to look away from those grey-blue eyes, staring at me so intently.

“Hello Kate.” He murmured as one hand settled at the small of my back.

“Hi” I managed to breathe back, still trying not to meet his eye. My feet felt like lead, dragging across the floor as I let Tom lead me into a medium-paced dance. I didn’t recognise the song. It was probably something very modern and trendy that I’d avoided hearing by never listening to the radio. I inwardly cursed my dislike of current popular music. If I’d kept up to date on it, at least I would have been able to distract myself by mentally singing the lyrics. In the absence of this, I chanced a glance at Tom, who was still looking at me steadily.

“You look absolutely stunning by the way.” He said, barely audible over the volume of the music. I felt that god-awful embarrassing blush creep over my cheeks again. My body never seemed to grow tired of betraying me.

“Thank you.” I managed to say, and we fell into silence for a little while, my brain desperately searching for something to say to him that wouldn’t make me seem like a complete idiot. “Congratulations on your award, by the way.”

“Thank you.” Tom smiled slightly. “It was a nice late birthday present.”

Something inside my brain clicked. I remembered the cast and crew celebrated Tom’s birthday on set last year. February 9th.

“Happy Birthday for yesterday.” I replied meekly, just as the song finished. I went to back away, but Tom was still holding me firm and close. The next song was slow and I recognised it immediately with a sinking in my stomach. It was possibly the worst song for me to slow dance to with Tom Hiddleston.

_This time, this place._  
Misused, mistakes  
Too long, too late  
Who was I to make you wait? 

My eyes squeezed shut tightly as I took in a deep breath, knowing that I was reddening more with every passing second.

_Just one chance, just one breath_  
Just in case there’s just one left  
Cause you know  
You know, you know 

_That I love you, I have loved you all along_  
And I miss you, been far away for far too long  
I keep dreaming you’ll be with me and you’ll never go  
Stop breathing if I don’t see you anymore. 

I felt eyes on me from everywhere, as though everyone in the room was staring at me. I could feel Jeremy, Thea, Annie, everyone from my design team following my movements, seeing how close Tom and I were dancing, the proximity of his lips to the shell of my ear. I clung tightly onto Tom’s shoulder as I could feel myself start to hyperventilate. And then it got worse, because Tom started to sing along, softly into my ear.

_“…That I love you, I have loved you all along, and I miss you, been far away for far too long. I keep dreaming you’ll be with me and you’ll never go. Stop breathing if I don’t see you anymore…”_

A noise halfway between a sob and a gasp escaped me and I released my grip on Tom and pushed away. I couldn’t do this anymore. It was like reliving the Henry and Katherine scene all over again, my throat tight and my mouth dry, panic rising in me and I needed to be away from it.

I turned and pushed my way through the crowd, only vaguely aware of Tom calling my name. I needed to find air, or at the very least a less-crowded space. I couldn’t run, but I pushed my way through the throng of people, desperate for an exit. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a door and I fought my way towards it, light-headed and dizzy, fighting for oxygen and space. Finally, I reached it and pushed my way through.

Cool air hit me in the face immediately and I sucked in lungful after lungful. I was in a service corridor of some sort and it was thankfully deserted. I put my hand out to touch the cold concrete wall and steady myself when suddenly, the muffled music from the main event got louder as the door opened behind me as Tom burst through.

“Kate?”

I spun around at the sound of his voice. He looked concerned as he stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him, muffling the music again. We looked at each other from opposite sides, my back now flat against the wall, cold seeping past the soft cream chiffon and into my bare skin. I was breathing heavily, but so was Tom. He had obviously chased after me through the crowds. I knew that I should leave, to tell him to leave me alone because I wouldn’t be able to stand the heartache of doing this again. But I didn’t.

“Damn you,” I whispered before pushing off from the wall, reaching for him and finding the lapels of his jacket, pulling him towards me as the song on the other side of the door came to a close.

_Hold on to me, never let me go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't know, the song was 'Far Away' by Nickelback.


	14. Chapter 14

Tom opened the door to his hotel room and stepped aside to let me through first. Lamps around the room turned on as I went in, lighting the room with a soft amber glow and as cast my gaze around, my eyes met their reflection in the mirror on the wall. The beautiful starlet still stared back at me, only slightly less polished than she had been a few hours ago. The red lipstick had faded to a faint stain on my lips, eyeliner was slightly blurred, and a black tuxedo jacket was draped over my shoulders.

I was much calmer than I had been thirty minutes before, when I was in that cool service corridor and breathing so hard I thought I’d faint. I had been about to lean in and kiss Tom, but then there was a loud crash to my left and catering staff spilled out of a door, picking up fallen hors d’oeuvres. We jumped apart guiltily but then I had started to giggle almost uncontrollably, a heavy mix of alcohol and adrenaline coursing through my veins. And then Tom had murmured softly in my ear, asking me to leave with him.

So here I was, slightly less gorgeous than I had been at the start of the night but ten times more conflicted. I heard Tom close the door to the room and a second later, his reflection joined mine in the mirror as he wrapped his arms around my waist and drew me close, burying his face into the crook of my neck. I breathed in the familiar scent of his aftershave, unchanged after a year, and my eyes fluttered closed as I allowed myself to sink back into him, dropping my evening bag on the dresser in front of me.

I never realised how much you could miss something you’d never really had until that moment.

My heart hammered in my chest and my breathing was shallow as Tom raised his head and slipped a finger under my chin, gently tilting my head up and back to meet his lips. The kiss was soft and slow, tentative at first but then deepening as I finally turned around, the jacket falling to the floor as my arms wrapped around Tom’s neck, fingers finding those darling curls. They were soft as silk and a small noise bubbled in my throat as Tom’s hands slid down from my face, fingers trailing over my bare shoulders and down my back, pulling me into him. I didn’t even know that we’d been moving steadily backwards until my back bumped against a wall.

My fingers dipped freely under the collar of Tom’s shirt, his tie having been removed during the car journey to the hotel. Our kisses grew more heated as time passed, one of Tom’s hands burying into my hair and the other gently drawing the skirt of my gown upwards as mine busied themselves with undoing the buttons on his shirt, desperate to get to his bare skin.

Tom suddenly drew back, his blue eyes dark in the soft light. My dress was bunched up slightly at my waist and his hand was on my skin, fingers lightly brushing the top of my thigh, making me breathe heavily. Wordlessly, he dropped to his knees and leaned forward, his lips pressing gently against the front of my underwear and I gasped at the sensation of his warm breath seeping through the lacy fabric. He placed small kisses against me, trailing slowly from the front to the edge of my underwear before pulling them aside with a finger, his mouth making contact with my bare, sensitive flesh at last.

I cried out loudly as his tongue delved into me, hot and wet and delightful. Gently, he lifted my leg, my knee resting over his shoulder to give him better access. I felt my shoe slide from my foot and land with a clatter on the floor but I paid no more attention to it as I tangled my hands in Tom’s hair again. I was entirely at his mercy, lost in the overwhelming rush of heat as my head fell back against the wall behind me. My legs started to tremble a lot sooner than I would have liked, partly due to the effort of keeping myself upright whilst being unevenly balanced and wearing heels. I felt the heat in my body spread and grow tight, my muscles beginning to shake uncontrollably and I knew that if he kept going, I wouldn’t make it before collapsing.

“Tom…” I tugged at his hair desperately. Mercifully, he stopped and when he looked up at me, his eyes were full of hunger. I was lifted as though I weighed no more than a feather and transferred to the bed, my back hitting the mattress with some force and my other shoe hitting the floor. My dress was still up around my waist and Tom quickly removed my underwear, tossing them aside before ridding himself of the clothing that remained on his body.

Climbing onto the bed, he grasped both of my hands and pulled me up and onto his lap. I moaned loudly as he slid effortlessly into me and I wrapped both of my arms tightly around his shoulders to steady myself. Tom’s mouth found my neck and he sucked and nipped his way down to my collarbone, trying to pull the neckline of my dress out of the way. I heard the delicate chiffon tear but had no time to mourn the damage of my gown, because in the next second, Tom’s lips moved further down, seeking my breast.

Time blurred as I lost myself completely in the sensation of skin on skin, in the heat and the desire and the longing. We moved together easily, fingernails dragging and tongues lapping at sensitive spots, teeth gently nipping until it was all too much and we crashed over the edge. Panting, we leaned against each other heavily.

“Wow,” Tom murmured, his hands sliding up my back and around to softly cup my face. We looked at each other for a few heartbeats, breathing finally starting to normalise. “I missed you”.

I stared at him blankly. In the next moment, I had meant to say that I’d missed him too, but those words evaded me completely.

“I shouldn’t have done this,” I whispered instead. My heart wrenched as Tom’s face fell.

“Kate? What’s wrong?”

I swallowed hard as Tom pushed my hair tenderly back from my face.

“I’m seeing somebody,” I confessed.

“Ah…” Tom replied. He still made no attempt to let go of me, gently holding me in place. I was hit my an enormous wave of guilt.

“I have to go,” I said, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears as my hands slid from Tom’s bare shoulders. I slid from his lap ungracefully, the joints in my hips and knees stiff from kneeling. I winced in pain as I stood up, the soft volume of cool chiffon sliding back down my legs to graze my feet as I stooped to retrieve the first of my shoes.

“Katy, don’t…” Tom pleaded, shifting on the bed to pull one of the covers over and wrap it around his waist. “We can work something out, darling. Just, please don’t leave.”

I forced myself to ignore him as I crossed the room to the wall to pick up my other shoe, moving as fast as my stiff, burning joints would allow me. All I could think of was Harry. I had to get out. I scanned the floor swiftly but there was no sign of my underwear. Giving it up for lost, I picked my bag up from the dresser, dragging something black and woollen with it. I meant to put it back, but Tom was now standing and scrabbling wildly for clothing so I held onto it as I yanked the door open and hurried through it. I heard him shout my name once more before the door slammed shut.

I hurried down the corridor, soft carpet under my bare feet as I raced to the elevator and punched the button repeatedly. Thankfully, the lift was already there and the doors opened with a soft ping. I just hoped that it would reach the ground floor before Tom had finished dressing. I quickly slipped my heels back on and turned my attention to the wool garment I had accidentally brought with me. It was Tom’s cardigan; the one he had worn on the day where we’d got caught in the heavy downpour and he’d spent the night in my flat. In my bed.

Tears prickled in the corners of my eyes and I blinked to dismiss them, pulling the cardigan on if only to cover the rip in my dress. When the elevator doors opened, I bolted towards the hotel doors, my heels clicking loudly on the marble floors and once outside, jumped into the first waiting taxi.

“Baltimore Wharf, please” I said to the taxi driver, collapsing heavily against the black leather seats and brushing away the tears that were still threatening to fall. The driver was silent as we pulled away but after a few moments, he glanced at me in his rear-view mirror.

“Are you sure, Miss?” He asked and I looked up, confused. “I can easily drive you to the hospital. Or the police station. No charge.”

I realised then what it must have looked like to him. A crying young woman, running out of a high-class London hotel at five o’ clock in the morning, with a torn dress and hair in complete disarray. There was one obvious conclusion to make of it.

“Oh! No, it’s not what it looks like. I promise,” I said to him, patting my hair self-consciously. From his reflection in the rear-view mirror, it was clear that he thought I was lying. To be honest, I wouldn’t have believed me either. “It’s just been…a strange night.”

“If you’re sure, Miss” the cabbie replied quietly. Even though I had no need to seek police or medical attention, part of me felt glad for any poor girl getting into this taxi who did need them. I smiled at him and his kind concern.

“Just Baltimore Wharf, please”.

~~~~

Despite the amount of people in sharp suits making their way to work early, nobody seemed to bat an eyelid at the woman entering the building at six in the morning, wearing an evening gown. It was either a more common occurrence that I’d thought, or nobody cared.

I entered my flat and closed the door, sagging heavily against it and dropping my little beaded evening bag on the floor carelessly. My head was so full of guilt and confusion and anger at myself. I had never pegged myself as the girl who would cheat on her boyfriend, but I’d done exactly that. To say that I had been too weak to resist Tom’s charms would have been utter bullshit. The second I had seen Tom again, all I had wanted was to be with him again. That’s why I’d tried so hard to avoid him.

But even that was a lie. I could have tried harder if I’d wanted to. At some point in the night, he’d been bound to catch up with me and when he did, I’d passed caring about what I should or should not be doing. I could have told Tom about Harry immediately, but I didn’t. It was my own choice to go back to his hotel, and I’d wanted so much to feel his body against mine again. This was all on me.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who stuck with me through this, who provided support, encouragement, constructive criticism and squee. I hope I’ve done this justice. I love you all.
> 
> Music inspiration for this chapter was Ghost by Ingrid Michaelson.

It was well after mid-day by the time I woke up, my eyes slowly peeling open in the gloom of my bedroom. My head felt thick and my joints were aching dully. I groaned aloud as I pushed myself up with great effort and rolled over on my bed. I heard a shoe drop to the floor and realised with some amount of horror that I’d passed out whilst still wearing my evening gown. The tear by the neckline had worsened during my sleep and was now completely beyond repair, the delicate chiffon now frayed dramatically and some beads already missing.

I stripped it off and left it in a heap by the foot of my bed as I grabbed a towel and headed towards the bathroom. As I waited for the water to heat up, I chanced looking at my reflection in the mirror. The sight was more familiar this time. My hair was a tangled mess, ruby red lipstick gone completely and my eyeliner smudged halfway down my face. With a heavy sigh, I turned away and stepped under the scorching hot water, hoping to wash away the sins of the previous night. The heat helped with my sore muscles and that sticky feeling of sweat and other bodily fluids, but in the end I still felt like the world’s biggest bitch.

A phone call to my beloved sister Elizabeth did nothing to make me feel better.

“You did what?” Liz yelled down the phone, incredulously. I pushed my heavy, wet hair back from my face and sighed.

“I know, I’m a horrible, horrible, disgusting, despicable cheater.” I replied. Liz was silent for a few seconds. My sister had never been the type to judge, but then I’d never done anything like this before. And there was always a first time for everything.

“That’s not really true.”

Liz’s reply took me by surprise. I had, at the very least, expected her to call me and idiot. Or a twat.

“How so?” I asked, confused.

“Well, this Harry fella,” Liz began. “It isn’t really like you two are properly together. I mean, what? He lives in Paris, and you two pop out to dinner and the movies whenever he’s in London. Which isn’t really very often.” She paused and I could almost hear her thinking on the other end of the phone. “I mean, you’re really more friends-with-benefits than anything else. It isn’t what I would call a proper relationship, Katy.”

As usual, Liz had a point. Harry was a freelance photographer but he worked out of Paris. The only time I ever saw him was when he visited London on business, and I didn’t really miss his presence or even his company when he wasn’t here. Our texts were sporadic and sometimes we could go without a phone call for weeks. Lizzy was right. Harry and I didn’t really have a proper relationship.

Yet he was such a lovely man. He was sweet and funny and considerate, and I felt incredibly guilty for betraying that. But Tom was sweet and funny and considerate too. He was also stubborn and infuriating and he had a jealous streak. He also made my heart race and my brain fog up like nothing or nobody else had ever done. In the end, I knew that Harry and I were going nowhere, and if this whole encounter with Tom had taught me nothing else, it was that I had to officially end it.

I felt a little less guilty after talking to my sister, but it still took me another four hours, plus half a tub of Chunky Monkey and two glasses of wine to get the courage to call Harry and break the news. I didn’t say anything about Tom. There was no point in bringing something like that up, which would only be terribly hurtful and not very constructive at all. Instead, I just told him the other truth, that we lived too far apart and never really saw each other and that it might be more beneficial for us to just be friends. He agreed. I was actually disappointed to discover that Harry was not at all as upset as I’d hoped he’d be. Not that I would have taken any joy in him being distraught, but my ego took a good knock to find out that I was no major loss. The phone call ended amicably, but I ended up finishing my tub of ice cream and going to bed early, feeling thoroughly miserable.

~

If I had thought that I’d gone to bed feeling low, it was nothing to how I felt when I woke up the next morning. My night had been disturbed, full of nightmares about how much of a disappointment I was, of how much I fucked up. I must have looked like a train wreck when I stumbled into work an hour later, all my colleagues chuckling indulgently, thinking that I was just still coming down from a killer hangover. I felt even more wretched as I approached my desk, spotting a bunch of twenty-four white-pink English roses, which somebody had placed in a glass vase full of water.

“These came for you yesterday,” said the perky office dogsbody, popping up out of nowhere. “I put them in water for you. Didn’t want them to die.”

She was bobbing up and down excitedly, like a puppy. I wondered if she was expecting a treat. Good Dogsbody. Have a biscuit.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, sliding onto my chair with some effort. I had no idea what the girl’s name was. It might have been easier to tell her to get lost if I did.

“There’s a card in there too,” Dogsbody said, pointing to the small yellow envelope resting gently between the plump rose-heads.

I didn’t need to read the card. I knew exactly who they were from.

Before Valentine’s Day last year, the irritating hair and makeup girls on The Hollow Crown had been twittering idly about their perfect date. One had mentioned roses and they had gone into raptures about dark red velvety petals when I had spoken up, calling them cliché. I would be much more impressed, I said, if the guy I was dating brought white-pink roses, because then it would prove that he’d actually gone to the trouble of finding out my favourites. Tom had grinned at me as the twits quickly changed the subject.

I ignored Dogsbody and the roses, setting about opening up my sketchbook instead. Dogsbody was still hovering.

“Are you not going to open it?” She pressed.

“No,” I replied shortly, rifling through my drawer for a pencil. Still, Dogsbody lingered.

“Don’t you want to know who they’re from?”

“Look,” I said. “I don’t care about the stupid flowers. If you like them so damn much, you take them.”

Dogsbody blinked.

“Go on! Take them!” I practically yelled at the girl and after a second of hesitation she scooped the vase up from my desk and retreated, a startled look on her face.

An hour later, I glanced up from my sketches to see the small yellow envelope on the edge of my desk. It must have fallen out when Dogsbody snatched up the vase. I stared at it for a few moments before reaching for it and, against my better judgement, opened it. The note was hand-written and simply said:

Kate, please call me. Tom.

Scrawled underneath was a mobile phone number, but other than that, there was nothing else to the note. I turned it over in my hands a few times, trying to decide what to do. My feelings for Tom were very confused. Just when I’d thought I was over him, he’d rocketed back into my life and now everything was fucked up again. With that thought, I tore the card in half and dumped it in my waste paper bin before turning my attention back to work.

~

It was close to eight in the evening by the time I actually stopped working. I’d managed miss my lunch break because I’d been so absorbed with the design I’d been working on. There was even a cold cup of tea on my desk, presumably brought by Dogsbody, which I hadn’t even noticed. I wouldn’t have been half surprised if the poor girl had spat it. The result of my labour was pretty good and I was happy with it, but the grumbling in my stomach had roused me and I realised that I needed to go home.

I was buttoning up my trusty Burberry raincoat on my way out of the building, when I heard my name being called from my right and I turned around automatically. Tom was standing in the doorway, a cup of coffee clasped in his hand. I was gobsmacked. The last thing I’d expected today was for Tom Hiddleston to turn up at Matthew Williamson’s design HQ at eight in the evening on a Tuesday. I stood frozen as he made his way to me in a few short steps.

“Hi,” he said quietly. It took me a few seconds to recover enough to speak.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. Tom ran his free hand through his hair and bit his lower lip nervously.

“I, er…I thought I could escort you home.” He said. I stared at him, speechless. “Here,” Tom tried again, thrusting the coffee cup into my hands. “I brought you this.”

The cup felt ice cold in my fingers and my eyes flickered from Tom’s face, to the cup, and back again. His coat collar was turned up around his ears and his breath formed a light mist. He looked as cold as the coffee cup felt.

“How long have you been here?”

Tom let out a small huff of laughter before running his hand through his hair again.

“A little while.” He admitted, which probably meant that he’d been standing there for hours. My heart tugged sharply. Tom had been standing in the cold, waiting to see me. He’d even brought me coffee, which had undoubtedly been hot when he’d first arrived. I felt like a prize bitch for ripping up his phone number.

“Come on,” I said softly, reaching for his hand which was freezing cold. “Let’s get out of here.”

~

The cold coffee went into the nearest bin as we headed for Victoria Embankment and Tom apologetically bought two cups of fresh hot chocolate at a street cart on the way, to make up for the freezing beverage that I’d disposed of. It was scorching and sweet, flavoured lightly with rum and we wrapped our fingers tightly around our respective cups and took tiny sips as we walked.

“Did you really try to follow me when I left the other night?” I asked.

“Of course I did,” He said. “But by the time I got dressed and ran down, I was just in time to see your taxi pulling away. I probably should have run down in my underwear instead.”

I grinned wryly, the image of Tom running through a five-star hotel in his boxers sailing across my brain. I’m quite sure that would have made it into the papers the next day.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I understand why you did it.”

“No, you don’t. Not really.”

I stopped walking and leaned against the metal railings separating the pavement from the plunge down to the Thames.

“I mean, of course I was feeling guilty and confused…the usual crap. But that wasn’t really why I left.” I’d thought about it over the last few hours, mulling the situation over while at work, scribbling away at my design.

“Last year, when you left my flat that morning, I ended up a bit of a mess. For a few days actually. It was pathetic.” I confessed. Taking a deep breath, I took a sip of hot chocolate for encouragement. “The thing is, we knew back then that we couldn’t take it any further. You were this big star with big plans and this shining career ahead of you and I was, well, me.”

I paused and turned the coffee cup around in my hands, my eyes fixed on it. “Things haven’t really changed much in the last year. Your career is just getting better and I’m still making frocks. Regardless of whether or not I was seeing anyone, I was just setting myself up for another broken heart. I didn’t want to feel like than when you left me again.”

And there it was; the long and short of it. I still didn’t really know if I’d ever really been in love with Tom or just the idea of him, but I knew that I’d felt as though my heart had been torn in two when he’d left. I finally looked up from the paper cup in my hands and glanced at Tom. He was looking at me with soft blue eyes, his expression a mixture of hurt and sympathy.

“You really think I’d leave you again?” He asked, quietly.

“Yes,” I replied honestly. I didn’t think he’d do it to be purposely cruel, but he’d be here for a few weeks if I was lucky and then be off again to shoot another movie in America or Russia or Cambodia and then the cycle would start again. We’d never get enough time together, no time to get to know each other properly, to discover each other’s quirks or learn to cope with separation.

Tom stepped forward and took the paper cup from my fingers, depositing it with his own on a stone pillar before taking both of my hands in his. They were much warmer than they had been before.

“Kate,” he said softly. “I can never promise that I won’t have to go away every now and then. But I can promise that I’ll never have another year like this past one. I’m in London for most of this year and when I do have to go away, it’s not going to be for long.”

Tom paused and brushed a stray strand of hair back, leaving my cheek tingling slightly from his touch. He drew me in a little closer and I felt my chest growing tight.

“What is that even supposed to mean?” I asked. Tom smiled.

“It means that I think we have a chance at this.” He replied. “I’ve spent my whole year completely unable to get you out of my head. I missed you so terribly, missed seeing your face and hearing your voice. Last year wasn’t the right time for either of us. No matter how strong a feeling we may have had for each other, time was against us. But seeing you the other night…well that just confirmed to me that my feelings for you haven’t changed one bit.”

I looked away, fixing my eyes on the pavement and tried desperately to remember how to breathe. I could barely believe what I was hearing. Tom’s fingers hooked lightly under my chin and raised my head again. His blue eyes were full of hope and promise.

“What about you, Kate? Do you still like me at all?”

I almost laughed.

“Of course I bloody do. Are you blind?” I said. Tom broke into a grin and actually did laugh.

“I couldn’t blame you for thinking it, the way I act sometimes.” He replied, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “So, what do you say? Do you think we could make a go of it?”

It wasn’t the most romantic way to ask a girl out, but I didn’t really care. In the space of a few moments, I’d gone from abject misery to glimmering hope. It was a pretty spectacular shift.

“I suppose so,” I replied. “But, we need dates. Lots of dates.”

“Alright,” said Tom with a chuckle.

“And no sex.” I added hastily. “Sex complicates things. No sex for at least….a while.”

“Agreed.”

“Really?” I said, surprised.

“Of course,” grinned Tom as he slipped his arms around my waist and pulled me close. “What about kissing? Is kissing off limits too?”

His face was close but his lips just out of reach. His breath was light and warm as it ghosted against my skin and my eyes fluttered closed.

“No, kissing is definitely okay.” I whispered, and then his lips were on mine, sweet and warm from the rum hot chocolate, kissing me so deeply that I felt dizzy. It lasted forever and yet not long enough, but it was as sweet and tender as King Henry’s had been to Catherine of Arnois. When it finally ended, Tom drew back slightly and rested his forehead gently against mine with a contented sigh.

“Catherine Robinson,” he murmured after a moment. “Would you do me the utmost honour of being my girlfriend?”

I grinned at him and then said the one word that I had wanted to say to Tom since the day I met him.

“Yes.”


End file.
